Enigma
by arithenay
Summary: Once more Wesker's prisoner, Claire struggles to understand her strange captor and find a way to escape. Part 3 of 3 after Wavering and Sequence.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Echoes_

Eight days, nine hours, and twenty two minutes. Claire knew because of the clock hanging on the wall in the close confines of her prison -- a comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless. She had a bed, a desk, a chair, a small washroom, even a television -- everything but her freedom.

Eight days, nine hours, and twenty two minutes since he'd brought her to this place. Eight days, nine hours, and twenty two minutes since she'd seen his face.

Eight days, nine hours, and twenty _three_ minutes.

She flipped through the channels idly, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It was still cold, she noted glumly. She didn't think Wesker felt it.

The one thing her prison lacked was a window. She didn't know the temperature outside, or where outside was. The last thing she remembered was the kick to her head, and then waking in this room alone.

He'd refused to see her, to speak to her since. Food appeared on the desk while she slept, and although Claire considered herself a light sleeper, she never heard him enter or leave. Once she'd tried waiting up for him. She'd managed to go seventy two hours solid, watching MTV at top volume, splashing cold water on her face, jumping up and down to keep awake. At last she'd let her eyes slide shut for the briefest of seconds and awoken ten hours later to find the television off and the usual plate on the desk.

So last night she'd written him a note on a piece of paper torn from one of the room's two books, both of them on biomolecular structure. The very action made her remember Chris, and that thought brought tears to her eyes, but she fought them back. Something told her she'd need all her energy to get through this with her sanity intact. She didn't even know if Chris was alive. Chris... Leon... all the others. Dead? Or alive and thinking they'd lost her?

Something was different here, too. Wesker had claimed she was his leverage against Chris, but after more than a week of captivity he'd made no attempt to manipulate her, to hurt her, or, to the best of her knowledge, to use her. What was he up to?

The only way to find out was to talk to him, and apparently he wasn't having that. So she wrote him the note.

The note itself came fairly easily; what took a long time was _starting_. What was she supposed to write? Dear Wesker? Even to her mind that sounded ridiculous. Just leave it unaddressed? She was writing to him or the dust bunnies; she thought he'd figure it out. But then it sounded rude, and she didn't want to get on his bad side -- not yet, at least. Just starting with Wesker was similarly problematic. For a moment of masochism she toyed with "Dearest Albert," but eventually she settled on the one thing that might get his attention: his former title.

_Captain Wesker,_

_Although I appreciate not being thrown into a tower or strapped to a laboratory bed, I'm wondering how long you intend to leave me here with nothing but the television for company. I would very much appreciate the chance to talk to you. I promise not to scream or shout or throw anything whatsoever._

_Claire Redfield_

She wasn't surprised to find him absent when she opened her eyes this morning. The customary plate rested beside her note. With a sigh, she rolled to her feet, shaking her hair out, and bent over the desk.

To her surprise, she found five words scrawled on the bottom of the note in a slanted hand: _Is there anything you require?_

Freedom. A telephone. Some low grade explosives and an escape vehicle. But she didn't think any of those would get a positive response, so beneath his answer she wrote: _I would like some clean clothes, a sketchpad, and some pencils. More than that, I want answers. I don't want to spend the rest of my life a comfortable prisoner._

She passed the rest of the day in edgy uncertainty, wondering what had made him leave his message, why he wouldn't face her. Was it possible the invincible Albert Wesker was feeling guilt? After all, she had saved his life, and he repaid her by making her a prisoner. She set the back of her mind to work on a way to exploit that. Above all, she cautioned herself, don't piss him off. This time you have to be smart or you'll wind up dead.

She went to bed early but couldn't sleep, wondering when he'd slip into her room, how he knew whether she was asleep or merely pretending. On some level it reminded her of being a child waiting for Santa Claus to arrive with his bag of gifts -- the vague memory of her mother's voice: "Santa won't come until you're asleep, Claire."

She scratched that line of thought in a hurry. The last thing she needed was to think of her mother.

Rolling over, she tucked the blanket beneath her chin and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and heavily. With a bit of luck, maybe she could fool him -- maybe he'd sneak in thinking her asleep, and she could jerk upright like a jack-in-the-box and shout GOTCHA!

She waited and waited and waited, and at last fell into a fitful sleep during which she dreamed of her brother engulfed in the explosion's flames. When at last she woke again, she saw that Santa Claus had indeed come -- next to the plate sat a thick coil sketchbook, a metal box of artist's pencils, an eraser and pencil sharpener, some charcoal, a box of pastels, and a large shopping bag of clothing -- nothing special, nondescript athletic clothes that fit any size, but clean and warm.

She ran her fingers over the sketchpad, then sharpened one of the new pencils. Wesker hadn't left a note, but she ran the lead over the the bottom corner of the paper, sketching in quick jerky motions until she'd produced a rough outline of her own head and two words: thank you.

Sinking back onto the bed, she touched the pencil to the paper and drifted into another world.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Entranced_

When Claire opened her eyes, Wesker was sitting in the chair, hands folded, arms resting on his thighs. Watching her.

Several months ago she would have jerked awake and back, out of his reach -- if there was such a thing. Now she only lay still, allowing herself to adjust to wakefulness. For his part, Wesker seemed to take no notice of her. He could have been asleep himself for all she saw behind those bloody glasses.

At last she rolled to a sitting position, keeping as much of herself covered with the thin blanket as possible, not out of modesty -- even in bed she wore sweat pants and a hooded sweater -- but in a futile attempt to keep warm. It wasn't dangerously cold but uncomfortably so, and had been since she'd arrived.

Wesker titled his head, examining her, and she returned the favour just as blatantly. Wesker. Finally. After nearly two weeks of captivity, of being driven nearly insane by boredom, here he was.

Well, at least she wouldn't be _bored_ any longer. Whether she liked the alternative remained to be seen.

The space between them grew so unnerving Claire began to wonder if she wasn't dreaming Wesker's presence. "You're here," she said, just to break the silence.

"I'm here," he agreed.

"How long have you been here?"

"Some time now. I didn't wish to disturb your rest."

She blinked. "I don't suppose that was kindness on your part?"

"I'm afraid not, dear heart. This was a temporary rest stop. It's not suitable as a permanent base. We're going to have to move, and you may find the journey... trying."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she pressed on, very aware that if she let him intimidate her now she would be frightened of him for the rest of her life. "Trying like turbulent, or trying like you'll-be-tied-up-and-thrown-in-a-box?"

"The latter, I'm afraid. I can't have you knowing our location."

Anger surged, and she repressed it. Anger was at least as dangerous as fear, at least where Wesker was concerned. "What exactly are you going to do with me, Wesker? I've been here for almost two weeks and this is the first time I've seen you..."

"Were you missing me, Miss Redfield?"

She narrowed her eyes, hating the mockery in his tone. "Hardly. I just want to know what you're up to."

He rose to his feet, and all at once she felt very small, huddled beneath her blanket, her eyes still heavy from sleep, her hair disheveled and dirty. "What I'm up to is my own business, I'm afraid. All you need to know is that you're staying with me."

"For how long?"

Amusement tingled his reply. "Forever, if I want it that way. Haven't you realized, dear heart? After all you've been through, you and your brother still hold the charming delusion that one day you'll defeat me." He laughed softly, humorlessly. "You won't. And I'll tell you why: no matter how you plan, no matter what you come up with, you will always underestimate me."

Claire shivered again, this time not from cold. "Get out of here," she ordered. "If all you came to do was gloat, then leave me the hell alone."

"Get out of that bed."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Go to hell."

The next thing she knew, the blanket had been wrenched from her grasp and she stood in the middle of the room, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. "Bastard," she spat.

"Yes. Now grab anything you want and come with me."

She hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her surrender. On the other hand, who knew how long he'd keep her locked up? Or when he'd be in the mood to grant her requests again? Swallowing her pride, she grabbed the small duffle bag he'd left on the floor and shoved a few changes of clothes into it, along with her art supplies, hairbrush, and a few packages of dried fruit and nuts she'd squirreled away in case he decided not to feed her. At last she faced him, tossing the bag onto the floor between them. "Well? What now?"

His lips twisted in a humorless smile. "Now you follow me." She started to object but he cut her off. "Alternatively, I carry you. Those are your choices, Miss Redfield."

She scowled, but when he scooped up her bag and headed for the door she fell into step behind him. She hated that she'd obeyed him, hated it even more that he hadn't even bothered to glance over his shoulder, simply assuming she'd comply.

_He can hear you_, she reminded herself as they stepped into the corridor -- yet another carbon copy of Umbrella's many hidden locations. The cold was even worse out here, and her teeth chattered as she followed in his wake.

"Is it cold?"

She raised her head. "What?"

"I said, is it cold?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I didn't bother to check the ambient temperature. If you wish me to make changes to your quarters, Miss Redfield, you must tell me."

She snorted loudly. "My _quarters?_"

"You would prefer another word?"

"How about cell? Prison? Hellhole?"

His smile remained humorless. "Very well. If you wish me to make changes to your hellhole, let me know."

God, he was impossible. She rolled her eyes and followed him around a corner and into a laboratory. Her heart seized as she hesitated in the doorway, taking in the all too familiar hospital bed, the reek of sterility. Wesker glanced over his shoulder at her. "Come in, Miss Redfield. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done so already."

Yeah, right. On the other hand, though, nothing stopped him from chasing her down and dragging her back if she ran. Swallowing what felt like a golf ball, she stepped into the room. "Sit down," he commanded, gesturing to the bed.

She swallowed again. Son of a bitch, that son of a bitch...

Somehow she made her way to the bed. When Wesker came to her, he held a syringe in his hand. "What is it?" she demanded, muscles tensed to bolt and to hell with the consequences.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, a hand that felt gentle but could easily be restraining. "A mild sedative and amnesiac. In lieu of tying you up and throwing you in that box you mentioned... unless, of course, you'd prefer..."

She rolled up her sleeve with a speed that made him chuckle, although she kept her eyes averted as the needle pierced her skin. Swallowing hard, she wondered what precisely he'd injected into her veins. Was he telling the truth? Why would he lie? How could she stop him if he did?

For a moment she felt nothing, and then a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Wesker caught her and eased her to the bed. She strained to demand an explanation, but words wouldn't form. "It's all right," he soothed, and for the barest of seconds she found his reassurance... well, reassuring. Then she realized she wasn't worried about anything after all -- floating in a hazy, pleasant, dreamy state. Rolling onto the pillow, she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of floating.

A moment later, something warm and heavy settled over her. She forced her eyelids up to find Wesker laying a thin hospital blanket on her. "I'll be back," he said, his hand on her forehead easing her back down.

Claire slid back and didn't hear him leave. By the time he returned, she was once more fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Dream a LIttle Dream..._

Chris stood by the tombstone, his eyes fixed on the grass waving beneath his feet. The wind rustled overhead, autumnal leaves drifting softly around him. He hunched his shoulders in his leather bomber jacket, wondering if he'd done the right thing by coming here. "Hi, Mom," he said softly, glancing around to make sure no one was watching him talk to a couple of rocks. "Dad. Sorry it's been so long. I haven't..." He cleared his throat abruptly, wondering what he was trying to accomplish here. "I haven't been able to make it. And then, since... Well, it's been awfully hard to shake Jill and Barry. They seem to think I'll self-destruct if they don't keep an eye on me..."

The heavy weight in his jacket seemed to prove them right. He ignored that, pressing on. "I guess I'm here to say I'm sorry. I meant to take care of her. I did. I don't know what happened. It seems like... like the harder I tried, the worse it..." A lump rose in his throat. With shaking hands he reached into his pocket and fumbled with the bottle of whiskey, prying the lid off and swallowing the lump with a good quantity of alcohol. The heat swirled through his gut, coursing into his brain. He drew another deep breath. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"We don't know she's dead, Chris."

He closed his eyes in a combination of annoyance and amusement. "I thought I gave you the slip."

"You should know better than that." Jill slid up beside him, ducking under his arm and sheltering from the cool wind. "Can't escape me."

He tightened his grip on her. "If she was alive, she'd have found a way to contact us by now."

"How you figure?"

"She's Claire."

Jill smiled. "That counts for a lot. But Wesker's Wesker. That might count for even more."

"If he has her again, if they both survived... if, if, if. Don't you think he'd have thrown it in my face by now?"

"It's hard to tell with the captain. I think..."

"Don't call him that."

She blinked as the harsh rebuke faded in the autumn air. "What?"

"Captain. Don't call him that. He was never our captain, never; he was a traitor, a liar, a..."

"Okay, okay," she soothed before he could get out of hand -- again. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he sighed, and hand in hand they stood by the Redfield graves, wondering if it was time to add another.

----

Dizziness surrounded Claire, a faint dream-like sense of serenity. She drifted through it, barely conscious of muted voices in the background, a soft vibration running through her, something warm and hard encircling her...

_Wrong something is wrong _

She tried to move but couldn't. It didn't seem to matter. She let her head fall back against...

_Against what Claire open up your eyes wake up damn you wake up_

The voices grew more solid, steadier, gaining strength. She still drifted in a haze of semi-consciousness, unable to respond, but she understood the voices now, even if she couldn't quite make sense of the words.

"...fell through... steady..."

"...nother hour..."

"...fast as possible."

Bringing her will to bear, she shifted, drawing her awareness back to her body.

"I think your wife is waking up."

_Wife? What? Who?_

"We can't have that." How could anyone miss the sarcasm in that voice? "She isn't well. I'm not sure how she'd respond to finding herself aboard this plane. Pass me that case, please."

_Wesker. Oh my God, Wesker. _And she was resting on his lap, cradled in his arms, her head slumped against his shoulder, and he was pretending she was his wife, and why why why? Why not a private flight, why not use his contacts, why put her through this, but whatever the reason, if she just pulled herself together before he forced her back to sleep maybe she could cry for help, alert the pilot, and then... And then what? Wesker would kill him. But if she could find a way to let the pilot know without alerting Wesker...

With all her strength she forced her eyes open, cringing against the wash of light. Sure enough, Wesker held her bundled in a blanket and wrapped in his arms as he rummaged through a metal case. She tilted her head, taking in the pilot of the tiny aircraft as it bobbed and wavered in the wind. Swallowing a wave of nausea, she worked her tongue, trying to get rid of the sandpaper coating it and force a noise to escape.

Before she succeeded, a familiar pinprick jabbed her arm. She tilted her head back and met Wesker's eyes behind his glasses. "Sleep, dear heart," he said, smoothing a hand over her head. "It will all be over soon."

And as she drifted back into unconsciousness, those words took on a very sinister tone indeed.

_-----_

Barry stepped over an empty beer can and slipped on the puddle it had once contained. He just managed to right himself, staggering a few steps on the linoleum before catching at the refrigerator handle in the dark kitchen. The door swung open in his hand, spilling its illumination over the bottles, cans, and Leon strewn across the floor.

Leon threw a hand over his eyes at the sudden light. "Would you turn that the hell off?"

"Sure," Barrry replied sarcastically, advancing on the younger man, leaving the door swinging open. "Kennedy, you look like shit. And you smell worse. How long have you been sitting here?"

Leon attempted a shrug, causing himself to slide further down the cabinet. His entire body now stretched across the floor, his neck at a right angle as his head rested against a cupboard. "Dunno. Coupla hours."

"Try a couple of weeks."

"Bullshit."

Barry reached down, but Leon batted his hand away. "Ain't your girlfriend, man. You oughta find one. Keep you busy." Leon laughed, a laugh dissolving into a ratched, hacking cough. "Makes you care about things. You see how well that works out."

"I have a wife."

"I know that."

Barry heaved a sigh. "Kennedy, you don't even know she's dead. But you sure as hell will be if she comes back to this."

"She's dead."

"How do you know?"

"She'd be here if she wasn't."

Barry threw up his hands in exasperation. "I've just about had it with the lot of you. I'm through playing daddy bear to a pissed off adolescent and a couple of lovesick teenagers. Damn it, I've got my own kids if I want to play daddy."

"Well nobody asked you to come around now, did they?" Leon glared at him, but the expression lost some of its power under the fact Barry doubted he could stand if he wanted to. "Constitution's improved now, y'know. Takes a lot longer to get drunk. Doesn't last as long either. You wanna be helpful, slip out and buy me a six pack."

"That's it! That's it, Kennedy. You're on your own. Three times I've come down here and tried to whip you into shape, and every time you lie there in a puddle of your own vomit spouting self-pitying tripe. Well, from now on you can do it without the audience. I've had it with you, man. I respect you -- like you -- but I'm not going to put up with this shit."

Leon attempted the shrug again, this time without any serious consequences. "That's what I keep telling you."

"Goodbye, Leon." Fuming, Barry spun and stormed across the kitchen, no longer bothering to dodge the empty bottles, simply kicking them out of his way. He half hoped one would skid into Leon and knock some sense into him.

"Hey, ain't you going to close the fridge door?"

"Drop dead, Kennedy."

The phone rang with an ear-shattering shrill. Barry jumped, coming down on a beer can and almost losing his life for the second time in the most bizarre rescue mission he'd ever taken part in. He met Leon's eyes and heaved a sigh. There was no way the other man was getting up to answer the call.

One last favour. One more, and Kennedy was on his own. "Hello?" he snapped into the receiver, resisting the temptation to add something sarcastic.

The connection was poor. He only heard static at first. "Hey, what?" he demanded loudly, as if he could drown out the static. "I can't hear you!"

The static faded, only to explode into life once more. But that pause was enough to let him hear two words, and those two words were enough to make him drop the phone and turn to stare at Leon Kennedy, half-unconscious, filthy on the floor.

Those two words were _Ada Wong_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Prognosis_

Another room. Another bed. Another blank wall to stare at and more blank hours to fill. Claire thought she might lost it if this kept up much longer. She'd already filled half the sketchbook Wesker left her, and even she would get sick of drawing eventually -- _eventually_ meaning right about now.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at her captor. He arched an eyebrow in reply, leaning against the wall, cool and composed and -- yes, all right already -- damnably attractive. That is, until you noticed the gleaming red eyes behind those dark lenses. "What is it you'd like from me, Miss Redfield?" he inquired in his usual detached tones.

"How long are you planning to keep me here?" she demanded in return.

"We've been through this, dear heart. As long as I please."

"Fine. Whatever. _Why_ are you keeping me here? Is Leon alive? Is my brother? Have you done something to them?"

His brow creased, lips falling into a hard, straight line. "I'm not in the mood to talk about Chris at the moment."

"No? What are you in the mood to talk about then? Baseball? Literature? You into any beatnik poets, Wesker?"

The muscles along his jaw tensed. "I think you're forgetting your situation, Miss Redfield."

"Oh, and what is that?"

In a flash he stood in front of her, gloved fingers biting into the sides of her face. Her jaw bones ground together in his grasp, her struggles futile against his superior strength. "You are my prisoner," he hissed. "Not a guest. Not an _equal_. If I so choose, I can crush your skull between two fingers and no one will ever know the difference. So to put it colloquially, you will watch your mouth, Miss Redfield. You will not piss me off. You will do as I say, when I say it, and if I choose to answer your questions, to allow you privileges such as the freedom to move about, you will be grateful for what you receive, and not demand more. You will not _demand_ at all. Now, are we perfectly clear on the situation?"

"Yes," she managed, groping against his hand.

"I mean are we absolutely crystal bloody clear?"

"Yes!" she cried, and he released her with a shove. Holding her throbbing jaw in one hand, Claire huddled against the wall and watched him. He turned his back to her, staring at a blank space on the wall, his posture unreadable. Who was this man, who could leap from amiability to psychotic tormentor in the space of a second?

_And why the hell was he keeping her here?_

He turned back to her, expression characteristically unreadable. "He survived."

"What?"

"Your brother survived the explosion. They all survived it, your friends. Miss Valentine saw to that when she set the charges."

She closed her eyes, tears of relief and gratitude welling over her lashes. "Thank you," she whispered, collapsing on the bed, head dropping to her hands. She fought for control. Somehow the news of her friends' survival summoned the tears she'd managed to withhold during Wesker's brutal manhandling.

He made no move to leave, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd have time to cry later. Right now Wesker was in a communicative mood, and she had to use that to her advantage.

_Carefully_, she reminded herself. But the twinge in her jaw was reminder enough. "Where are we, anyway?"

"You don't really expect me to tell you?"

"I guess not. We flew here, though."

"Yes."

"On the plane... I woke up for a minute, didn't I?"

He hesitated before answering. "Yes."

"The pilot..."

"I prefer not to share my plans with the world at large," he sighed. "The pilot believed you were suffering a nervous breakdown, and that I was a medical doctor. He's a frequently used commercial pilot, and no one has any reason to associate him with me."

_The pilot also believed I was your wife_, she thought but didn't say. She had no intentions of pushing Wesker further than he was willing to go. She'd grown stupid, cocky; she had to remember that this wasn't Chris. She wouldn't be able to argue, shout, and bully him into giving her her way. No, this man required other tactics. "Why?" she blurted suddenly, then cursed herself. Hadn't she just decided to play things cool?

Wesker frowned. "Why what, dear heart?"

Well, in for a penny... "I don't understand you," she said bluntly. "Not one little bit. You're the cruelest man I've ever known." She waited to see if her comment had earned her a blow; when he made no move toward her, she continued: "You're a traitor, a megalomaniac, and quite possibly insane. You've kidnapped me three times now. You've hit me, locked me up, starved me, used me, and all to get to my brother for some imaginary crime. But at the same time..." She hesitated, wondering if she dared continue. But Wesker remained motionless, silent, his passivity encouraging. "It's like there's two of you. There's the man who humiliates and hurts me at every turn, and then there's the man who brings me art supplies, tells me my brother's still alive, reassures me."

"Reassures you?"

She flushed. "It was... a while ago. I was afraid you... well, you told me you wouldn't..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, and wondered how she'd gotten into this conversation in the first place. But Wesker understood, and finished it for her. "I wouldn't rape you."

To her dismay, she couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes." And then, all at once: "_Why_ did you tell me? You could have left me in fear, but you didn't. Why?"

She heard his footsteps, saw his boots draw into her field of vision. Once more his hand touched her face, and she flinched. But the hand remained gentle this time, tilting her head back to look at him. "I'm not a sadist, Miss Redfield."

She blinked. "Um... I see."

"No, you don't. You think I enjoy others' pain. And to an extent, you may be right. But I don't hurt others for my own pleasure. There's always a reason. I have no intention of hurting you if you give me your cooperation. The times you've mentioned -- hitting you, locking you up, starving you and what have you -- each of these times was necessary, at least from my point of view. I've no doubt you would disagree. That doesn't matter. As we've established, I hold the power here; the decisions are mine. But I have no intentions of making you suffer. You're right; I'm cruel. I am not a good man. But I don't tear wings from dragonflies, Miss Redfield. I don't enjoy watching people suffer simply for the sake of watching them suffer. I need your cooperation, and I won't get it by terrorizing you."

_You didn't need it then_, she thought but didn't say. As if reading her mind, he added: "And even if that was not the case, well... I'm a cruel man, Miss Redfield, but contrary to what you believe I am a man, and not a monster. I believe in a certain element of fairness; otherwise, I would kill both you and your brother outright. Rape is unfair. It holds no appeal for me. I saw no reason to leave you in dread of something you had no call to fear."

She swallowed, hard. For a moment they stared at each other, although the dark glasses gave him a significant advantage. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked suddenly, no malice evident in the question.

Yes, yes, yes... and somehow no. She was afraid of him when his hands closed around her throat, when he remembered the role he was playing. But other times... "Do you want me to be?"

He smiled grimly and released her. "Say yes, dear heart."

"Yes," she replied softly.

He nodded and headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. Without turning to look at her, he added: "It's not about what I want, but what I need."

And then he was gone, leaving Claire with at least the amusement of puzzling over his meaning.

Fantastic.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: I'm not sure why ff didn't send a notice for chapter four until nearly a week after I updated, but hopefully this goes a bit quicker. Also, as the comedy network would say, my website doesn't suck anymore, so check it out :)_

Chapter Five

_Ada_

"So why call me?" Leon demanded for perhaps the hundredth time. This time, the woman he was talking to actually seemed to have an answer. Not that she appeared willing to share it or anything -- most of her attention seemed to be focused on straightening curtains around comatose patients. He was sure they appreciated the effort and everything, but if the woman didn't snap out of her private mission soon, Leon just might do some snapping of his own.

Thankfully, it didn't come to that; she finished and turned to face him. A slightly overweight nurse with grey hair and round glasses, a nametag identifying her as Patty, and torn stockings. Leon felt like he'd stepped onto the set of a bad sitcom. "She woke up," Patty explained.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just for a moment, and she said your name. Do you have any idea how many Leon Kennedys there are in the phone book?"

"I'm unlisted."

"Twenty seven. And we called every single one of them."

"My number isn't in the phone book."

"Then we called all the L Kennedys. Do you know how many of them there are?"

"Ma'am, I appreciate the effort, but..."

"Eighteen. We called every single one of them too."

"Yeah, you said." Leon closed his eyes and counted to a hundred and fifty. He'd started off counting to ten, but after the first dozen times he'd begun picking up where he left off, just for fun. This woman had caused numbers 60 through 150 and counting. "Can I see Ada now?"

"And then someone suggested we call the police because they might be able to find your number, given that it was an emergency and all. And they knew just who you were! Wasn't that a stroke of luck?"

"Yeah, luck," he agreed, nails sinking into his palm. Whatever Wesker had done to him hadn't just made him faster and stronger, but shortened his already volatile temper. He counted to 160. "Ma'am, could I please see Ada?"

"How do you know her, anyway? Husband?" She winked. "Boyfriend?"

Leon was going to explode, he really was. For the first time he sympathized with Chris. _Don't yell at her_, he cautioned himself. Just for something to think about other than the red haze descending over the room, he thought of Barry lurking in the reception area outside. _Take it easy in there_, Barry had warned him. _Find out what's going on and then get back out here. We need to talk to Chris and Jill, regroup._

Yeah, regroup. Leon rubbed a hand over a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks and realized how he must look to the aging nurse. Then again, maybe her glasses didn't work so well anymore -- she certainly didn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. "Well, I suppose you'd like to see her?"

Maybe her _hearing_ didn't work. "Yes," he said as loudly as he could without shouting.

She frowned at him. "There's no need to yell, young man. This _is_ a hospital, you know."

So much for that. "I'm sorry." 161, 162, 163...

"Well, you're worried about your girlfriend, I suppose. It's only natural." She gripped the edge of the curtain and paused like a gameshow host about to reveal the grand prize. "Now, I must warn you she isn't looking well. Whatever happened to her, she's very badly injured and we're not sure she'll wake up again. You're sure you don't know what happened?"

Leon resisted the urge to tear the curtain from the woman's hands. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Dr. Wren will be wanting to talk to you, you know -- see if you know anything of her family, her history."

"I don't."

Patty frowned. "How can you be her boyfriend and not know anything about her?"

"I never said I was her boyfriend. Ma'am, please, please, please let me see Ada. Please."

He really thought he was going to have to punch her for a second, but then she tugged the curtain aside and got out of his way.

And there she was. Ada. Barely recognizable with a huge bandage covering most of her face, one leg in traction, the gentle beep of the monitor assuring him her heart still beat. "Oh, God," he whispered, taking one of her hands. Burns marred the soft dark skin, and he stroked them, his eyes fixed on the one fluttering eyelid he could see.

All at once he felt awkward, ill at ease. "Is she... I mean, can she hear me?"

"We don't know," Patty told him, surprisingly gentle. "It can't hurt to try."

He stared at her until she got the message and glanced at her watch. "Five minutes, dear, that's all the doctor's allowing."

"Five minutes," he agreed, and waited until the door closed behind her. Then he returned his attention to Ada, what was left of her. "Hey, you," he said softly, his hands clasping hers. "I hear you were asking for me -- or accusing me, or something. Well, I'm here now. And I don't care whether you want to scream at me or what, Ada, but I need you to open up your eyes, okay?"

He wasn't particularly surprised when she remained motionless, lifeless. What had he expected? That at the sound of his voice she'd leap back to life like a fairy tale princess. "Hey," he repeated, squeezing a little harder. "I lost everything in that explosion. Now you're alive, and it's like... It's a miracle. I don't know how you survived, but I need you to wake up, Ada. Ada?" He bent his head, pressed their joined hands to his brow. "Ada, please... Ada..."

Only the monitor answered him, its shrill beep somehow calming in the silent room.

170. 171. 172. 173. 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179.

One hundred and eighty.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Shivers_

By the fourth week of her captivity, Claire had developed two things: an uncomfortable sort of routine, and a love-hate relationship with the bathroom.

As per usual, her prison was freezing. She had warm clothes and plenty of blankets, but the only place she was ever truly comfortable was in a tub of hot water, soaking the chill from her bones. Eventually she discovered that she could keep the water hotter longer by showering instead of bathing, and switched over. Her showers grew longer and longer until she was spending a good hour each morning under the steady soothing spray. It was the best hour of her day, the only luxury of her captivity.

But then came the moment when she had to get out of the shower and into the icy room. She dreaded it almost as much as she dreaded Wesker himself, the shock of cold air raising goosebumps along her flesh, the shiver of shock, her body never seeming to get used to the cold no matter how long she endured it.

So she'd developed a routine there, too: from the shower she wrapped herself in a thick towel, darted across the room, and dove beneath the covers of her bed, where she could shiver herself warm. She stayed there until she was completely dry, usually reading one of the paperbacks Wesker had brought at her request, sometimes dozing. She was sleeping too much, she knew, but there wasn't a lot to occupy her in her one room prison -- two if you counted the bathroom. So she read and dozed and slowly warmed, her clothes prearranged in a heap beside her so she could dress without leaving her cocoon of heat.

She stayed naked beneath the sheets longer and longer each day, so it was really inevitable that Wesker would eventually walk in on her. Nonetheless, she was completely unprepared when it happened. After all, she hadn't seen him in five days; how could she guess he'd pick this day, this _morning_, to show up? Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the key turn in the lock, but she forced herself calm, drawing the blankets all the way to her neck and sitting against the wall (like a block of ice prickling her spine). After all, he had no way of knowing she was naked unless she told him, which she had no intention of doing.

He entered as he always did, cautiously, eyes sweeping the room and ascertaining her location before he took two strides forward, locking the door behind him. He glanced at her curled into the bed, wet hair disheveled and falling in her eyes, blankets clutched tightly at her neck. Oh yes, he had her at a disadvantage. She just hoped he didn't know it.

"And how are you this morning, Miss Redfield?" he asked, setting a covered tray on the desk.

"Lovely," she spat in return. "Really enjoying my first month as a prisoner."

He offered her his best ironic smile in return, almost as cold as the room. "I'm pleased to hear it." Even through the dark glasses, she knew he was looking her up and down, taking in her position on the bed. "Sleeping late, are we?"

"What else do you suggest I do?"

"Only an observation, dear heart. You're welcome to spend the entire day in bed if you like." He crossed towards her and she tightened her grip on the blankets, cursing him roundly. He never lingered in her room anymore. But now he perched on the edge of the mattress, and she almost dropped the blankets in shock. She had never, _ever_ seen him sit in her presence; he'd always been ready for action. "Is everything all right?"

Her mind reeled, but fortunately her mouth didn't wait for her brain to catch up. "Yeah, Wesker, everything's spectacular. I've never been happier."

"I meant, are you feeling quite well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're shivering," he replied simply, reaching out and touching the side of her face with one gloved finger. Her heart leaped and hammered, and she didn't dare drop the blankets, didn't want him to see her bare shoulders.

Fortunately she could explain shivers away easily enough. "Of course I'm shivering. It's freezing in here."

"Is it?" His finger stroked down her cheek, leaving a path of heat behind. He examined it disinterestedly, as though he might have soiled it against her skin. "I told you before that you'd have to inform me if you wished changes made to your quarters... or, as I believe you preferred it, your hellhole."

She flushed slightly but didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, fixing her gaze on her knees beneath the grey woolen blanket. His voice tinged with amusement, he said: "Is there something you wish to ask me, Miss Redfield?" Correctly interpreting the expression on her face, he added, "Now, don't let pride stand in your way. You'll only regret it once I've gone."

He was right, she knew, and she swallowed a lump that could equally have been her pride or her heart. "All right. Is it possible to get some heat in here? Please."

"Certainly. I'll see to it this afternoon."

She closed her eyes, grateful he hadn't pushed her further, knowing she wouldn't have groveled in spite of the constant cold. "Thank you," she forced herself to say.

"My pleasure."

And still he wasn't leaving, so she slapped him with the full force of her glare. "Is there something else you want, Wesker?"

"Mmm." He leaned back against his hands, staring at her in a way that made her feel he could see right through the blankets. "I thought you may want to know that Miss Wong also survived our little adventure to the north."

_To the north, not to the north now_. She filed the information for future reference. Without missing a beat, she said: "Great. Thanks for the news."

"I've been wondering if it was worth the bother to locate her and decided, unfortunately, that it is." He sighed impatiently. "There's too much she could tell Mr. Kennedy if she so desires." He glanced at her face and his lips twisted in a cruel smile as he registered the surprise in her eyes. "Oh, yes, Mr. Kennedy has located Ada. From what I can gather, he's spending a great deal of time in her hospital room, holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings."

She hated him, hated his cruelty, his enjoyment of her discomfort, and she hated herself more for asking: "Has he... I mean, is he...?"

"Looking for you? I'm afraid not, dear heart. I think he believes you dead."

But he'd found Ada. She turned her head away and blinked so he wouldn't see her tears. She hated him in that moment, hated him as thoroughly as she hated Leon. "Don't cry, dear heart," he said gently. "I'll remove Miss Wong from his clutches soon enough."

"So why tell me? What do I care?"

"It means I'll be gone for several days. You'll have the entire facility to yourself -- a perfect opportunity for escape, if you care to try. Of course, you'll be locked away as usual. I'll leave you provisions for the duration of my absence."

She glared at him. "And what if something happens to you and you don't come back? I'll slowly starve in this room?"

He smiled in return. "Then you'd best pray for my safe return, hadn't you, Claire?" He rose to his feet and crossed the room, pausing only to glance over his shoulder and say, "I believe your clothing has fallen on the floor. You'd probably be much warmer if you put it on." She closed her eyes in mortification as the door closed behind him, then made a mad dive for where her sweater and track pants had indeed tumbled to the carpet.

_I hate you_, she thought savagely as she yanked them on, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out who she was talking to.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_Loyalties_

Ada lay awake long after Leon left. The nurse asked if she wanted something to make her sleep, but Ada turned away without even answering. Something to make her sleep? According to Leon she'd been asleep for over a month now. Why would she ever want to go back?

It was the wasted time that really infuriated her. A whole month, gone; a whole month where she'd done nothing but lie in this stupid bed breathing through a tube. The doctor's had tried to impress on her how very fortunate she was, how unlikely it had been that she'd ever open her eyes again.

She didn't feel very fortunate when she looked in the mirror.

Ada had always clung to three weapons: her strength, her looks, and her indifference. She used all three to navigate the maze of life, clawing her niche in a world where so many seemed to find living easy -- like it came to them naturally.

She'd lost one of those weapons now for good.

Leon kept telling her the scars would heal, that they weren't as bad as she thought, and she appreciated -- more than she could ever say -- how he stood by her or, more accurately, sat by her throughout the whole ordeal. He never once flinched when they unwrapped the bandages, although she'd watched him like a hawk for any sign of revulsion. And when she'd looked in the mirror and started to cry, he'd held her and kissed her so sweetly she'd almost forgotten she wasn't the exotically beautiful superspy any longer, that she never would be again.

Almost.

Now she lay awake, running her scarred fingers over the burnt tissue covering the right side of her face. She remembered Tommy Lee Jones in one of the worse Batman movies, and wondered if she'd have to cultivate a personality to match each side of her face. Both eyes had escaped intact, and her mouth, although her nose was a mess she could still breathe through. Her hair grew in patches on her mangled scalp, although they assured her it would all grow back eventually, hiding at least the worst of the damage.

She looked like a freak.

Staring at the shadows on the wall, she remembered Leon's visit, relived every beautiful moment. Because it _had_ been beautiful, the only beautiful thing in this horrible day. That he could still open his arms to her, with all of his strength and beauty, weak and mangled as she was now -- it staggered her. Would she have done the same for him?

Not if Wesker had anything to say about it. Leon claimed Wesker was dead. That was a laugh. An explosion that killed Wesker and left Ada alive? Unless he'd been sitting on the reactor, it wasn't bloody likely. She'd only been saved by a staircase landing on top of her -- crushing her leg, sure, but also shielding her from the worst of the damage. After that she remembered very little. Leon said a search and rescue team had found her. They'd seen no trace of Wesker or Claire, which was to be expected, he claimed -- but without meeting her eyes.

For just a minute she allowed herself to consider the possibility. If Wesker really had died in the explosion -- if she could finally declare herself free from his influence -- if she was, for the first time in her life, truly _free_, truly her own. What would she do then? Did she dare live like a normal person, dare let Leon love her, let herself love him?

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against the pain she'd refused medication for. Well, to be precise, she'd accepted a couple codeine, but they'd barely made a dent in the constant burn. All those other medications, they had to be injected, and ever since that first sweet rush of heroin in her veins, needles had become one of the few things Ada shrank from. She hated the weakness, but even now, all these years later, she couldn't feel the sting without reliving every moment of her sordid past. The first thing she'd done when she woke up was rip the IV from her wrist. The pain had been tremendous, and all the doctors had screamed bloody murder, but now that it was out she wasn't letting them put it back in. She'd swallowed some water and choked down a few mouthfuls of soup for them, and they'd reluctantly acquiesced.

A leather-clad hand clamped over her mouth. Instinctively she twisted beneath it, trying to attack, forgetting about her broken leg and screaming her agony into the soft dark leather.

"Ada."

Her heart seized at the sound of his voice. Rolling her eyes back in her head, she made out Wesker's shadowy form above her. Still, she took a moment to breathe into his glove, bringing the pain under control before she nodded that he could release her. "They told me you were dead," she whispered, for lack of something else to say. Renewed revulsion at her appearance surged through her as Wesker scrutinized her. She broke eye contact, shame and nausea swelling in her stomach, half-expecting him to turn and walk away.

He did, but only to the foot of her bed, where he found her medical chart and started reading. "Who are they, precisely?"

She swallowed hard. Did he already know the answer? She couldn't risk a lie if he did. "Leon."

"Ah. Not so much they as he, then."

"It's not my fault he came to see me. You didn't exactly scramble to find me, Wesker. I've been lying here comatose for over a month."

He shifted his focus to her, bringing an abrupt halt to her babbling. "You'll be returning with me."

She'd expected as much. He crossed to a cabinet and silently smashed the lock, rummaging through its contents. "You may want to remember your job description, Miss Wong," he said, without turning to face her. "I told you once that working for me was a permanent contract. Permanent means permanent, dear heart, not until you find a man who tickles your fancy."

She flushed. "I haven't betrayed you." He remained silent, and she quickly amended: "You're right, I did, but we addressed that. Or I thought we had. How was I supposed to find you from this hospital bed?"

"I'm sure it would have been quite impossible. Nonetheless, consider where your loyalties lie. Prior to Raccoon City, you were one of the very few people alive I trusted. After that event, I found you had a weakness after all. Where Leon Kennedy was concerned, I could no longer count on you." He turned back to her, several small bottles in his hand. "I would like to trust you again, Ada. Will it be necessary that I kill Mr. Kennedy to do so?"

She couldn't hide how her heart seized at the threat, and her mind raced for an answer. If she said no, he would almost certainly do it; if she said yes, he just might take her at her word. So she forced herself to swallow. No point in going for indifference -- he'd seen her reaction -- but she made her voice as regretful as possible. "I'd rather you didn't. This is the third time you've saved my life, Wesker. I don't think I could betray you now if I tried."

He inclined his head, leaving her in an agony of doubt as to his decision. "I'll return in a moment," he promised, and vanished out the door, utterly inconspicuous in his black clothes and sunglasses.

Ada fell back on the pillow and sighed, not sure how to feel. Wesker hadn't said a word about her appearance. He hadn't even seemed to notice.

Was he saving her life this time? Probably not. She'd lied about that, anyway. But he really had saved her the other two times, after her fall in Raccoon City, and before that, when...

She swallowed hard. How would Leon have reacted, she wondered, in Wesker's situation? If a sixteen year old girl, skinny from drug use, her beauty shielded by a dark hood, bumped against him on the street and went for his wallet? She could have escaped Leon by playing little-girl-lost -- he had a protective instinct that was hard to dismiss. But if she'd railed at him, called him a pig and worse, as she had Wesker? He'd have booked her in an instant. She'd have spent a few days in jail, then back to the streets.

Even now she shuddered to think how she's spoken to Wesker. He was still human then, but nonetheless dangerous for all that. When her fingers had slid into his pocket, he'd broken her wrist with a single hard twist, leaving her screaming on the ground. Even through the pain she'd shouted insults at him. Oh, she'd known he was a cop -- something in the swagger, or maybe the gun holstered beneath his leather jacket. She hadn't cared. All she wanted was her next fix.

He'd broken her wrist, and then he'd tossed her into his car and taken her home with him. She'd expected a jail cell, or, if he was feeling benevolent, a hospital. She hadn't expected him to set her wrist himself, but that was precisely what he'd done. And he'd kept her there until it healed, prying her none too gently off the heroin, ignoring both verbal and physical attacks. Those had been horrible days. He'd locked her up during his absences; otherwise, he was always with her, and she hated him with an intensity she'd never felt since. Withdrawl symptoms made her hallucinate all sorts of crazy things about him, making him more of a monster than he was.

And then, suddenly, one day she'd woken up and felt almost normal again -- weak, exhausted, broken, but normal. He had seen the change immediately and talked to her that very day. "You can go," he said, "and what you do with yourself after that is up to you. We'll never meet again. But I think there is potential in you, Miss Wong. I think I can make you into something far greater than a drug addicted teenager stumbling towards prostitution and an early grave. There is only one thing you must understand." He'd leaned forward, fixing her in place with his stare -- eyes blue then, but just as frightening for their deadness. "If you work for me, it's a permanent contract. You will never quit; you will never refuse an assignment. I will teach you everything you need to know, and I'll pay you very well. But you will belong to me for as long as I need you."

She'd been frightened, but also intrigued. She'd also been a fast study. She had natural speed and lanky strength, and it took him no time at all to teach her the basics of unarmed combat. Guns and knives she could already handle -- four years on the streets will do that to a girl who doesn't want to be used by any man passing by -- but he refined her skill, teaching her to be faster, quieter. Her latent intelligence surfaced under his supervision, and she mastered computers, electronics, and mechanics in rapid succession.

She wasn't stupid -- she quickly figured out at least part of what Wesker was up to, but she didn't care. It wasn't much worse than anything she'd done in her time. She knew he was toying with her psychologically, too -- keeping her isolated, focusing her loyalty on him. She didn't care about that either. The way she saw it, he'd had the right to do with her as he chose; he'd decided to help her, to give her a life unlike any she'd ever known. She owed him everything. What he didn't understand was, the mind games weren't necessary -- Ada would do anything to earn the life he'd given her.

Leon wouldn't have done it. Leon would have thrown her in a cell.

She fell back on the pillow and sighed, thinking of Wesker's words. Where _did_ her loyalties lie?

He slid back into the room like a shadow, so silently she almost didn't see him even though she'd been watching for him. "Wesker," she said softly.

"Yes?"

She started to speak, but froze when she saw the syringe in his hand. He followed her gaze and shook his head. "A sedative, Ada. I have to move you, and I don't have the equipment to do it properly."

"Yes, but..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to trust me, dear heart. I know how you feel, and I wouldn't subject you to it if wasn't necessary."

She stared at him for a moment and swallowed her fear, knowing there was nothing to be gained by arguing. When she spoke, her voice only shook slightly. "Leon doesn't really think you're dead," she told him. "I could see it in his eyes. The others do, though. I got the feeling Chris and Leon want to believe you survived because then they can believe Claire survived, too. But Barry and Jill are convinced you're dead, and Claire with you. They're talking Chris and Leon around. If you take me, they'll know the truth."

For the first time in many months, he offered her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Ada. I already had this information, but I appreciate your honesty." He sat on the bed beside her, ignoring her whimper as he swabbed at her scarred arm. She stared, fascinated, unable to look away. The dim hospital lighting glinted off the syringe, and she almost felt the heroin coursing through her, the sting of ecstatic death, loving suicide.

Wesker placed a hand over her eyes and gently turned her head away. She bit her tongue to keep from shouting when the needle pierced her flesh, clinging to his wrist with her free hand for what felt like forever.

At long, long last there was another sting, and he released her. She turned back to him, teeth clamped firmly into her lower lip. A pleasant hazy sensation was beginning to creep up on her, nothing like the rush of heroin, but relaxing just the same. Wesker bent over her, his expression unreadable as he waited for her to fall back into sleep. "Rest easy, dear heart," he murmured. "There's nothing to worry about. You see, I want them to know I'm alive. My plan doesn't work if they think me dead."

And his face shimmered into darkness before she could hear anything more.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_Monstrously Enamoured_

Ada stared once more at her reflection in the mirror. From beneath scarred eyelids, her eyes remained dark and liquid, the only truly recognizable features on her face. Oh, Wesker's surgeon had done his work -- she no longer looked like the creature from the black lagoon -- but even below the surgical scars she could see the marks, knew she would never be herself again. Her hair was beginning to grow back, at least. Still far too short, but at least covering her entire scalp, hiding some of the worse burn tissue.

She hobbled to her feet, leaning heavily on her crutches. One of them slipped out from beneath her and she screamed in pain as her new walking cast slams into the floor. Back in the chair, she closed her eyes against what she'd become. Tears struggled to fall, but she ruthlessly suppressed them. She may be a cold, hideous, ruthless bitch, but she would not allow herself to become weak. That was the one thing she could never afford to be.

Not with Wesker around.

She clenched her hands around the arms of the chair and counted to twenty through a haze of pain. Slowly, the throbbing in her leg dulled, receding to a more manageable point. The doctor had offered her drugs, but she had refused them once again, and he hadn't pushed her. Ada suspected Wesker had warned him of her aversion to needles. They'd blindsided her in the middle of the night with the anesthetic for the surgery, and when she'd opened her eyes to the IV in her arm, Wesker had been sitting beside her. He needn't have worried. She'd torn free of the first IV, true, but that was before she realized how bloody much it would hurt. And once she'd had it out it wasn't going back in. Now, though, realizing how much damn pain she'd have to go through to get rid of the IV prematurely, she figured she'd better just bite her tongue and suffer.

Wesker had left her as soon as he realized she wasn't going to have a fit, and she hadn't seen him since. He'd probably gone back to his prisoner, she reflected glumly. Claire Redfield, Leon's love. Well, she couldn't begrudge them, could she? If she was going to turn her back and run away, she couldn't expect him to keep pining away for her. In fact it was better for both of them if he moved on, fell for Claire, never thought of Ada again.

The tears she'd been working so hard to suppress began to spill over her lashes, and she opened her eyes to blink them away -- a mistake, as it brought her features into sharp focus. For a moment she stared into the mirror, the face she'd worked so hard to preserve a mangled mess, and then she grabbed the phone and smashed it into the glass. The mirror shattered, spraying her with shards and surrounding her with jagged reflections. Seven years of bad luck, but she figured she'd already had three decades, so maybe that would count as time served.

Gritting her teeth, she yanked a chunk of glass from her arm and used the excuse to finally let the tears fall, burying her face in her hands.

She didn't hear Wesker come into the room, but she suddenly knew he was there, nearby. She'd become attuned to his presence, she supposed, just like a rabbit instinctively senses a predator nearby. Forcing her tears to a halt, she tried to blink them away before opening her eyes.

Sure enough, he was there, crouched soundlessly at her feet. He didn't say a word, but rested a gloved hand on her knee. She didn't know if he meant the gesture as a comfort or a caution -- you couldn't see his eyes behind those glasses, and even if you could, the red gleam tended to distract from any lingering expression. "Hi," she said, once she knew her voice was steady.

"Hello, dear heart."

His voice was compassionate, and she turned away again, quickly, before she lost control. God, if she'd sunk low enough to merit Wesker's pity... Hell, who knew he'd had any? "What do you want?" she demanded flatly.

"I've come to say goodbye. I'm returning to the base this evening. Can't leave Miss Redfield to starve now, can I?"

Ada shrugged. "I guess not."

"You'll be joining us there as soon as you're able. Dr. Thrask says it'll be about another month. Don't worry -- he's been paid well, and he doesn't hold any particular grudge towards me."

She laughed bitterly. "You want me to join you? Why? What possible use am I looking like this?"

He caught her chin and forced her head around to face him. "Please. It may have escaped your notice, Miss Wong, but I've never cared about your appearance. You're fast, strong, smart, and -- I hope -- loyal. What more can I ask for?"

She shook her head, feeling the cynical smirk that twisted her lips. Wesker's hand on her knee squeezed gently, and a familiar sensation washed through her... but the last thing she needed was to fall for Albert Wesker again, especially when he'd made it so clear he had no intentions of falling for her. She forced the feeling aside and focused on business. "Even if that's true, I'm still pretty useless with this cast."

"For the time being," he agreed. The hand on her chin slipped lower, caressing her neck, and Ada shivered involuntarily. What the hell was he up to now?

"Wesker..." she murmured.

"You're still worried."

She swallowed hard, trying to focus. "Of course I'm worried. I look like I used a running engine for a pillow. What do you want me to do, dance a little jig?"

"Do you know how?"

"What?"

"To jig." He smiled slightly, the smallest movement of his lips. "I didn't realize that particular skill was in your repetoire."

"You'd be amazed what I can do."

"I doubt it." He brought his thumb to her lips, stroking gently, leaving no possible doubt as to his intentions.

"Wait," she said quickly as he moved in.

Wesker stopped, his face inches from hers, his breath cool on her cheek. "Yes, Miss Wong?"

"If this is your annual act of charity, you can forget about it. I'm not that desperate, Wesker."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, was there anything else, or may I continue?"

God, yes, she wanted to say. She desperately needed the comfort, the reassurance that she could still be attractive, still be desired. Only not from him, not from _him_...

His lips claimed hers, gently, aware of the stitches on either side of her mouth. Ada gasped, mingled relief and pleasure rushing through her from that simple action. God, she wanted him, as she'd always wanted him, as he'd never really wanted her...

She shoved him away abruptly. "Are you playing games with me, Wesker? Because if you are, cast or no cast, I swear I'll cut out those glowing eyes of yours and leave them for the crows."

He almost smiled. "No games. And no complications, Ada. All right?"

She considered for half a second. "All right."

His arms closed around her, his lips on hers, gentle, careful, and she gratefully released the pain, the fear, the shock, released them all for just a little while.

No complications. She could handle that.

She had to.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Intentions_

Claire Redfield drew her knees to her chest and stared at her sketchbook, or what remained of it. Now that she'd calmed down, she realized how futile her tantrum had been. No one remained to witness it, and she'd destroyed every bit of work she'd accomplished since coming here.

But what difference did it make, anyway? She no longer believed Wesker had any intentions of letting her go. For whatever reason, he'd caged her here, like an animal in a zoo, his own personal exhibit. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes angrily. Tears again. All she did was cry these days. There was nothing else to do.

Wesker's words had proved prophetic -- she found no escape from her prison, in spite of carefully analyzing every nook and cranny during his absence. She'd hurried at first, worried he'd return too soon. That was a laugh. Almost two weeks he'd been gone. She'd run out of food ages ago -- even her secret stash had dwindled to a handful of raisins -- and was surviving on water.

Maybe he _was_ back, but he'd forgotten her. Or, more likely, decided to let her starve.

What the hell was wrong with him, anyway?

What was he?

He'd called her Claire. For the second time in... how long?

She'd lost track. Damn it.

Slumping against the wall, she rocked herself back and forth, letting her mind drift to Chris, to Leon, even to bloody Jill Valentine. She'd give her right arm to see Jill right about now. She wondered if Jill was consoling Chris for Claire's supposed death. She hoped so. As overprotective as Chris could be, Claire had to admit they shared the same genes. Maybe she'd been too hard on Jill, not given her a chance because she was afraid of sharing Chris' affection.

Maybe she'd give Jill a second chance if she ever escaped. Of course, the way she was going that was a pretty safe idea.

The door rattled softly. Claire jerked bolt upright, suddenly conscious of her unwashed hair, her dirty clothes, her tear-stained face. Her heart pounding in her ears, she clutched the blanket, watching the door ease open. Damn it, Wesker, I don't know whether to kill you or cry...

It wasn't Wesker.

Definitely not Wesker. This man was taller, bulkier, his bare arms glistening in the cool room. Claire's mouth moved but no words came out as he looked her up and down, his expression calculating, indifferent. "Who are you?" he demanded.

She managed to swallow her shock. "Who are _you?_"

He tossed her a grin, making her shudder. He reminded her of a leering skull -- grinning mouth, hollow eyes. "Let me guess. Now, let's see." The man eased into the room and slid the door shut behind him. Claire's mind raced as he made his way to the desk. Okay, this muscle-bound jerk was bigger and stronger than her, especially weakened as she was from hunger. Still, she had a much better chance against a human man, however strong, than she did against whatever Wesker had become.

He turned and leaned against the desk, arms folded, gaze hovering somewhere around her throat. "You can't be Ada Wong, because I hear she's in recovery somewhere in Switzerland. And you're too old to be Sherry Birkin. Obviously you're a prisoner here, so that rules out Yukiko Hayashi or Cassie Anderson."

"Who?"

He only smiled. "Which leaves me with a handful of options. The most obvious ones are Jill Valentine and Claire Redfield." He tilted his head, examining her. "I'm going to go with Redfield. You don't have that cop look around you. Too... sweet."

Something about the way he said that made her hands tremble. "Congratulations, you jerk," she snapped. "So who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"

"I know quite a bit about Wesker's connections, allies and enemies both."

"Which are you?"

Another cold grin. "Lucky for you I came along. You look half-starved, and I don't think Wesker plans to be back anytime soon. Just call me your knight in shining armour."

She forced herself to remain calm. _Don't trust him, Claire_... "You'll bring me food?"

"Sure... for a price."

Of course. "Go to hell."

He shrugged. "It's all the same to me. I'll check back in a few days. Maybe you'll change your mind by then."

Her mind raced. A few days... God, she'd be half-dead. There was no time left to plot and plan, she had to move, act, _now!_

He turned his back and she leaped into action, swinging from the bed and grabbing the chair in a single, fluid motion. She swung her entire body around, putting all the force she could muster behind the heavy metal chair.

It crashed against his forearm as he spun. The metal crumpled.

Oh, shit.

"You're like him," she said in disgust. "Wesker."

"Not precisely. More like your friend Leon." He yanked the chair from her hand, tossed it aside, and advanced on her. "Thank you, sweetheart. I was just waiting for that provocation."

"What?" She stumbled back, retreating from his inhuman smile as she scanned the room for something else, _anything_, she could use as a weapon.

His hand shot out, closing around her throat, slamming her into the wall. _Too late_, she thought, surprised she could think that coherently. His grip tightened, and she instinctively writhed against it.

The man stroked her cheek with his free hand. "Let's have a little fun before I do away with you. What do you think, sweetheart?"

She swung her foot at his groin in answer, but he sidestepped it neatly. "Stupid girl. Now you're just making me mad." In a single fluid motion, he threw her across the room. Claire cried out as she struck the bed, her shin smashing hard into the footboard, the rest of her toppling onto the mattress. Before she had time to react, he was on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head with a fierce grip that seemed to cut right through her flesh.

"You creepy little troll!" she shouted, struggling in spite of the pain. "Let go of me!"

He backhanded her sharply across the face. Somehow the blow drained the last of her resolve, and she lay there, spent, her head turned aside in an effort to hide her tears. Once again he traced his finger along her cheek, her jaw, her throat, making her shudder convulsively. "We can have a very good time..."

"Mr. Krauser."

Claire's heart leaped in relief. She twisted beneath her assailant to find Wesker, cool and casual as always, leaning against the open door. "This is a surprise," he continued calmly. "What can I do for you?"

Krauser hesitated. "I, uh... came to talk to you about the... job."

"The job, is it? Then would you mind getting off Miss Redfield?"

He hesitated a minute, during which Claire dealt him the full fury of her glare. "Sure thing," he said at last. The horrible pressure on her wrists eased as he swung himself to the floor. "Didn't mean anything, you know? It was just..."

Claire never found out what it "just" was because at that moment Wesker's fist connected with the other man's jaw and he went flying through the door. "Excuse me, dear heart," he said calmly. And then he was gone.

Claire stared at the closed door, her jaw agape. She shot to her feet and yanked on the knob, but he'd locked it; she pressed her ear to the metal, but could hear nothing outside.

When he returned ten minutes later, she was pacing the room. "Who the hell was that?" she demanded the second he stepped through the door.

"An associate of mine. I apologize. I had no idea he knew where to find me." He placed a covered tray on the desk. "You must be hungry, dear heart."

"Yeah, I am. It happens when some psycho locks you up and doesn't feed you for God knows how long."

"Unintentional, I assure you. Miss Wong was in worse condition than I realized. I had to stay with her until she stabilized."

"You're such a humanitarian."

He inclined his head slightly. "I'll return when you're in a better mood, Miss Redfield."

She watched him head for the door, warring with herself. "Wesker, wait."

He half-turned. "Yes?"

"I... I wanted to say thank you. For dealing with that creep."

He crossed to her, reaching beneath her chin to make their gazes meet. "I have no intentions of letting anyone hurt you, Claire."

"Yeah, I'm staring to get that." She smiled, biting back a sudden flood of tears. "No one but you, anyway."

"No one but me," he agreed softly, not releasing her.

The tears spilled over her lashes and she blinked them away, trying to pull back, but Wesker didn't let go. "Claire."

"Let go of me."

After a moment, he did, drawing back a step. "I'm sorry, dear heart."

"So let me go."

He was silent for a moment. "I can't."

"Why?"

"I think you know."

She raised her head and met his gaze incredulously. Slowly, he extended a gloved hand, palm up. After a moment's hesitation, she took it, allowing him to draw her into his arms, availing herself of a shoulder to cry on, _any_ shoulder to cry on.

Much later, once she'd finally cried herself dry, he half-sat on the bed, cradling her to his chest. He gently wiped her eyes, brushed her hair back from her face, brought her food. Claire accepted the care gratefully, forcing herself not to think too much about its source. _Tomorrow I'll go back to hating him. But one night, just one night, I need someone to hold me..._

He drew her against him once more. "I'm a liar, dear heart."

"I know."

"And a traitor."

"I know."

"So don't trust me."

"I don't."

He stroked her hair. "What if I told you to go, right now? Get out and don't come back."

"I don't know." She twisted in his arms. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No. I just wondered."

"I don't know," she repeated. "I don't know if..." She shook her head. "Hold me," she whispered. "Just for tonight, okay? Let's pretend everything's all right."

"Okay."

She curled into him, closing her eyes, and for the first time since her capture, she slept without dreams.

-----

Jill sat cross-legged on the carpet, sipping a Diet Coke. Sprawled across the armchair, Chris stroked her neck unconsciously, not realizing the thrill it sent racing down her spine. "So the long and short of it is," he summed up, "Wesker survived."

Leon looked like hell, worse than she'd ever seen him. He slumped on the couch and nodded his head, rubbing his hand over his unshaven chin, his bleary eyes. "I could really use a beer."

"No," snapped Barry. "Listen, both of you. Yeah, Ada's vanished. So yeah, probably Wesker has her. That doesn't change anything, you understand? Just because Wesker survived doesn't mean Claire did."

"We know that," said Chris, but Jill wasn't sure he did. She caught him exchanging a surreptitious glance with Leon, and marveled at how quickly the men patched up their differences once they were on the same side. "But it's a possibility, and as long as it's a possibility, I'm not giving up on her."

The doorbell rang. Nobody moved. Finally, Barry threw up his hands in disgust. "I'll get that, huh?" he snapped sarcastically, and vanished around the corner.

Jill watched him go. "OK, we have another issue to worry about. Frankly, hunting down Umbrella might be fun and all, but it doesn't pay very much. I don't know about you three, but I'm running out of money. And Barry has a family to support." She glanced at Leon. "Of course, we don't have to worry about being bored, because we'll be paying back favours for the next century."

"I'm broke," Leon announced flatly. "Evicted last week."

"I have what's left of my parents' money," Chris said. "It's not much."

At that moment, Barry returned and chucked a small square envelope in her direction. She ducked and it landed on Chris' lap. "What's this?" he demanded.

"How the hell should I know? Special delivery. It's your house. I thought you might have a clue."

Chris peeled the envelope open and shook it over his hand. A silver disc fell out. "It's a DVD."

"Well, fire it up. Let's see what's happening now."

Jill rolled out of his way as Chris padded to the television, bending and popping the disc into place. He remained crouched there, partially blocking her view, as the DVD player slowly scanned the disc.

Suddenly an image popped onto the screen, grainy, black and white. "My God," she whispered. It was Claire... and she was _hugging _Wesker.

Chris looked like he was going to be sick. "What the hell is this?" he asked faintly. The screen cut to another scene, this time Claire curled into Wesker... oh God. On the bed. Under a blanket. It was too poor an image to see if they were wearing clothes; _please God_, let them be wearing clothes.

On screen, Claire was looking at Wesker. "Hold me," she whispered. "Just for tonight, okay? Let's pretend everything's all right."

The image froze there.

"I think I'm going to puke," Chris managed.

Jill shook her head, struggling for something to say. "Well," she tried, "at least we know she's alive."

"Yeah," Leon croaked, "but what the hell is she _doing_?"

"And more to the point," added Chris, "where is she?"

------

"Well done, Mr. Krauser."

"I want an extra thousand."

"I beg your pardon?" Wesker's eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Krauser stood his ground. "That was quite the punch. You didn't warn me about that."

Wesker shrugged, pulled a stack of bills from his pocket, and tossed them in Krauser's direction. "You cleared a hundred grand for frightening a girl and taking a punch. I'd be satisfied if I were you."

Krauser hesitated, considering. He didn't think he wanted to cross this man. "I guess. Yeah. You're right."

"Good. Don't stray far, Mr. Krauser. I have a feeling we'll be working together again in the future."

Krauser grinned. Working for Wesker meant money and power, plenty of both.

Whatever it took was fine by him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_Reckless_

Jill saw the anger in Chris' eyes before he was even aware of it himself. "Chris," she said sharply, "we aren't going that way."

"What way?"

She glanced at Leon, found the same hurt and betrayal morphing. _Oh God..._ Heaven protect her from hurt men hiding beneath a layer of rage. "Both of you," she snapped. "Everyone in this room knows what an accomplished liar Wesker is -- some of us more than others." She met Chris' eyes and realized the shot had struck home. After all, Wesker had deceived the STARS for years before his betrayal, and they were trained to detect liars. "He's had Claire for months now -- more than enough time to brainwash her. That's _if_ he wasn't slipping some sort of drug or hallucinogenic into her food. This is exactly what he wants, okay? He wants us angry. He wants us hurt. He wants us running around without our brains while he figures out what he can do to hurt us more... to hurt _Chris_ more."

Barry nodded in agreement. "Bang on, Valentine. Look, I don't know what Wesker's problem with Chris is, but it's pretty obvious he sent this DVD just to piss you off."

"He succeeded," said Chris through clenched teeth.

Leon swung his feet to the floor and dropped his head to his hands. "My God," he said thickly. "Claire... I mean, I know I haven't exactly been... and I couldn't fault her for... but Wesker? The same psycho who strapped me to an operating table and treated me like a lab rat? Who planned the same for her? Killed Steve, betrayed her brother, hit her, locked her away..."

Jill could feel the conversation slipping out of her control. "That's exactly the point." Her voice rose over imaginary noise -- the clamoring of male egos? "Claire -- the Claire we know, the Claire who fought so hard to save Steve Burnside's life -- that Claire would never crawl into Wesker's... arms." She'd been about to say bed, but they didn't have any actual proof of that -- and anyway, it would only infuriate them more. She glanced to Barry, apparently the only other sane person left in the room, her eyes pleading for help.

He leaped in where she'd left off. "At best, it's Stockholm syndrome. At worst, it's some kind of mind control. Come on Redfield, Kennedy. Have a little respect for the girl, wouldya? "

"Wesker is _trying_ to turn you against her. There's nothing he'd like better than to see you attack your own sister."

Chris met her eyes, running his hands through already wild hair. "Yeah," he growled. "Yeah, I know that, Valentine. But if you think I would ever, _ever_ hurt Claire..."

"I know that," she interrupted. "Wesker doesn't."

A long silence followed, broken only by Leon's heavy sigh. He shoved himself to his feet and stumbled towards the stairs, rubbing his head. "Where are you going?" Barry demanded.

Leon paused and glanced back at them. "To sleep off the beer. I have a feeling I'll need to be at least partially sober for this one. If I don't pass out and drown in the shower, I'll see you sometime tomorrow -- with a month's worth of a hangover. Try to have coffee and asprin handy, would you?"

Jill almost smiled, but stopped herself in time. _Nothing_ about the situation would amuse Chris, and he would take it as a personal insult if she displayed anything but the coldest of poker faces.

She watched him reset the DVD player, watched the scene play again. "Chris, what are you doing?"

"I don't know."

"You're making yourself crazy."

"Maybe."

"And what's that supposed to accomplish?"

He shrugged. "Better than just sitting there."

"But not nearly as useful as coming up with a way to handle this."

"I'm looking for clues."

"Clues?" she exploded. "What clues, Sherlock? It's a metal cot in a stone room on a black and white surveillance tape. So we know she's in a room somewhere on the planet."

"Shut up, Jill."

"Watch your mouth, Redfield," Barry remarked conversationally, but dangerously. "Jill's trying to help, which is more than obsessively watching that disc is going to accomplish."

For a moment Chris' jaw tightened into a dangerous line, but then he relaxed, slumping against the sofa and letting the DVD whirl to a halt. "Yeah, I know." He glanced at Jill. "Sorry, Valentine."

"I know." She slid to his side, under his arm, carefully repressing a twinge at how hard he seized her. A moment later Barry slipped away, but Jill barely noticed. She held Chris as tightly as he clung to her, trying to protect him from the darkness Wesker had unleashed into their lives. "I know," she repeated, and wondered when -- if -- that statement would ever be true again.

------

Deep in the bowels of another Umbrella laboratory, Wesker leaned back in a chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. It was a bad habit, one of the few he couldn't seem to shake.

He reached for a mug of coffee -- on of the others -- and took a long swallow. Then, tenting his fingers, he propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and watched the screen in front of him.

Claire Redfield. She lay stretched out on the bed, pencil moving rapidly over a pad of paper. As he watched, she shook her head in frustration, tore the offending page from the book, and tossed it across the room.

He wondered how she'd react if she knew she was -- so to speak -- providing his own personal reality television series. Not well, he suspected.

But this was how you learned a person's weaknesses: slowly, watching them squirm, watching them laugh, watching them cry. Watching. He'd seen Claire Redfield confused, happy, relieved, terrified, exhausted. He'd seen enough to know how to handle her.

Krauser had been a stroke of genius -- the last push he'd needed to make her trust him.

The question was, what did he do now?

He continued to watch as she slid to her feet, rubbing her neck with a grimace of pain. "Claire," he mused out loud, fingers tapping softly against each other. So many options. He imagined her writhing in agony beneath his foot, just as he'd had her at their first meeting...

But somehow that didn't appeal to him. An uncomfortable lurch in his stomach -- not conscience, he'd banished that long ago -- warned him that such an idea violated his sense of fairness. He hadn't lied to her when he'd denied being a sadist. In fact, he lied to her as little as possible. The best way to make someone trust you is to tell the truth -- unless the truth is inconvenient.

Besides, it was _Chris_ he wanted to suffer. Just the thought of that insufferable little idiot with his moral righteousness and smug attitude... He'd see how well Chris maintained that heroic nobility of his after he viewed the sweet little scene Wesker had sent him. Claire might be a fool, weakened by weeks of isolation, weeks at Wesker's mercy -- but her brother was not. He would harbour no illusions about Wesker's true intentions.

After another moment, Wesker moved one hand and pressed a series of buttons on the phone. He leaned back in the chair as it began to ring.

"Hello?" A female voice, and pleasantly familiar.

"Well done, Miss Valentine. That was quick thinking back at the base. If not for Miss Redfield, you may have even succeeded in destroying me."

"Wesker," she hissed. He savoured the change in her tone, the rapid shift from weary to alert, from civil to anxious. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What are you trying to accomplish? What do you want?"

"I'm disappointed, Jill. I'd always respected your abilities at profiling criminals. Isn't that what I've become? Can't you figure out my motivations?"

"Wesker, _no one_ can fathom your motivations. We don't want to, either. We just want Claire back."

"Ah, so you received my little gift. Shouldn't you be thanking me? After all, it's because of me Miss Redfield survived the explosion -- the explosion, I might add, that you set. How does Chris feel about that?"

"Wesker..."

"Or am I leaping to conclusions? Are the two of you still dancing around the issue, playing games neither of you enjoys and no one can win?"

"None of your business!"

He smiled, enjoying the way her tone broke on the last word. "Take my advice, dear heart -- be with him while you still can. Life is very short -- or at least, it is for some." He paused. "And even shorter for others."

"All right," she snapped. "If all you want to do is discuss my personal life, send me an email. In the meantime, do you have any intention of telling me where you've stashed Claire?"

"So you can launch an astounding rescue? Certainly." He named another Umbrella lab, one far removed from their current location -- actually a rather new facility, still secretly staffed, still well guarded. It should be interesting if Chris actually took the bait and stormed the place. "Come well armed, Jill."

He disconnected the line.

And smiled.

For the first time in a while, Wesker was having a good time.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_Natsukashi_

"Watch the house and call in any questionable activity. I fail to see what part of this order gave you the trouble, Miss Valentine."

Jill shifted uncomfortably, well aware of Wesker's cold, angry stare, far more aware of her fellow STARS grouped nearby, pretending not to listen as they scan paperwork from several months ago. She's in deep trouble and knows it. She screwed up badly this time. "Sir, there wasn't time. I made a judgement call and I was wrong."

"A judgement call." His tone remained flat, without a trace of sarcasm, but still he managed to convey his utter contempt for her excuse.

"Captain, things happened very quickly. I recognized McCallister from files and I thought I'd better tail him before we lost him for good. I meant to call it in, but..." She swallowed. "By the time I realized I'd forgotten my radio, it was too late."

"Allow me to explain things to you, Jill. I'm in charge of this unit, which means I make the calls. When your judgement goes against mine, you're no longer making a judgement call, you're disobeying an order."

"I never meant to..."

"Regardless of what you meant, that's what you did. You've disobeyed orders in the past, and it's worked out for you. No one's ever called you to task because of your success rate. In other words, Miss Valentine, your instincts have been sharper than your superiors'. I respect that. I respect instinct, and I respect people who listen to it. But if you plan to serve under me, you'd better understand one thing: I will not tolerate disobedience of any kind. Those days are over. From now on you do what I say when I say it, without asking questions, without offering opinions. If you can't handle that, let me know and I'll be happy to speak to Captain James about rescinding your transfer."

Her cheeks burning, she dropped her gaze. "No, sir. I mean, yes, I can handle it."

"Good. Because if we ever have an incident like this again, you'll be out of this office before you can blink." He drew closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear, his breath hot on her cheek. "I chose you for this team, Jill. Don't make me regret it."

"No, sir."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to explain to Captain Irons why Mr. McCallister is still at large."

She remained frozen in place for several seconds after Wesker left, cheeks burning, dreading the moment when she'd have to turn and face her new teammates. In her previous experiences, cops were usually only too ready to unite against their superiors -- but STARS was different. Only three weeks and she already knew that. Three hours would have been enough. She saw the way the STARS looked at their captain, how they defered to him. Wesker had more than their respect -- he had their loyalty.

Half of her wanted to cry, but that would finish her. Instead, she drew a deep breath and crossed to her desk.

Chris beat her there. "Wow, Valentine," he drawled, drawing her chair back with a flourish. "That's got to be some kind of record. Even I made it three weeks without being chewed out by Wesker."

Barry Burton snorted loudly from the weapons cabinet. "The hell you did, Redfield. In fact, I'm not sure you made it three hours." To Jill he added, "Don't take it personally. Wesker likes to drag the new recruits through fire and brimstone for a few weeks, make sure they can take it. He'll ease up on you once you've proved yourself."

She made a face. She was a woman, a former mechanic, a sharpshooter -- and she'd been proving herself everyday since she turned sixteen. "My record doesn't speak for itself?"

"Not around here." Chris leaned back on her desk and grinned at her, showing no signs of leaving. Jill bit back her annoyance. She liked Chris -- liked all the STARS -- but God he was a pain in the ass. If his behaviour was supposed to be cute and endearing, she'd missed the bulletin. "Your record got you through the door. Once you're here you start from ground zero." He tweaked her hat so it fell over one eye, and she saw red. "Don't worry. We all do something incredibly stupid every now and then."

She jerked her hat back into place and glared at him. At least he'd dealt with any remaining urge to cry. "Thanks for the tip. Now would you get the hell off my desk? You're sitting on my paperwork."

He laughed at her but did as she asked, and Jill caught herself counting to ten to keep from throwing something after him. Barry's explanation helped, but she still felt like the odd man -- or woman -- out. Particularly as the STARS only female member to date. She'd hoped such an elite force would be different, but everything was the same -- same stupid male colleagues, same narrow minded captain, same dumb jokes and condescension. She rubbed her neck, wondering -- not for the first time -- what the hell she was doing here.

-----

Her legs drawn to her chest, Jill stared out the window and drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't sure what had prompted the memory -- the same thing, she supposed, that had made her get up and walk out of the impromptu strategy session, leaving Barry, Chris, and Leon to argue amongst themselves. She'd taken a long hot shower, the effects of which had been undone by the last half hour, sitting next to the frosty window, her hair slowly drying into chunks of ice.

"Hey."

She hadn't heard Chris come in. Twisting, she took in his tired expression, the dark circles under his eyes, and mentally compared him to the brash young officer who'd perched on her desk that day so long ago. "Hey," she said quietly. "Come up with anything good?"

"No, not really. We, uh, broke up early. I wanted to..." He cleared his throat softly. "Mind if I join you?"

Jill glanced down at the single narrow armchair and shrugged. "Sure, if you can find a space."

A glimmer of his old mischief shone in his eyes as he crossed the room, swept her into his arms, and settled on the chair with her in his lap. Jill laughed in spite of herself, leaning into his shoulder and nuzzling his jaw. "You okay, Redfield?"

"Yeah. I think so." He sighed. "It sounds awful, but I'm starting to get used to the idea of Wesker having her."

"Really?"

"No. Not really."

"I didn't think so."

He shook his head. "He's done something to her, right Jill? I mean, Claire's a sensible, intelligent person. She'd never do anything stupid like..."

Like chase her brother through a zombie infested city? Knowingly walk into an Umbrella base in search of him? Go running after Wesker on some kind of idiotic whim? Mentally, if wearily, Jill cursed Claire Redfield. The girl was always getting herself in some sort of trouble -- always finding a way to keep her brother's attention fixated on her. Even now, clutched in his arms, Jill knew she was not foremost in Chris' mind. "We'll find her, Chris," she said softly.

"Yeah," he muttered, holding her tight.

"Yeah," she repeated, and leaned back against him, wondering how and why things had gone so horribly wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_Impatience_

The alarm shattered the night's stillness. Claire Redfield jerked awake, sitting straight up and smashing her head against the upper bunk of her pathetic little cot. "Ow!" she shouted, and some other things too as she groped around in the dark, still half-asleep, until she found the light switch and flicked it on. Slumping on her bed, she blinked against the sudden illumination and cringed at the alarm still shrilling over a set of loudspeakers apparently hidden someplace in the room.

Since sleep was obviously out of the question, she dressed and began pacing back and forth, teeth grinding together as she waited for Wesker to either shut the damn thing off or come tell her what was going on. After about ten minutes of this she adopted a new strategy, planting herself face down on the bed with a pillow clamped over her ears. She almost wished a zombie would come crashing through the door -- but no, Wesker had claimed this base was deserted -- so what was causing this unholy racket?

She had no idea how much time passed, but when the alarm finally stopped, her face was covered in fine red lines from being pressed into the mattress. "Great," she muttered, trying to rub them out. So what now? Should she go back to bed and assume things were fine, or see what she could do about arming herself with only a few blankets, some pencils, and a protein bar at hand?

The door slammed open and Wesker entered without his usual caution. Claire leaped a mile and spun, clutching the table behind her as she attempted to steady her breathing. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded in lieu of a greeting.

Wesker gave her room the once over, belatedly. "We have to get out of here."

"What?"

He glanced at her, expression impossible to read. "You didn't hear the alarm?"

"Of course I heard the alarm. I'm pretty sure Chris heard the alarm, wherever he is. Wesker, you said this was a defunct institution, that there wasn't anything dangerous here."

"There isn't."

"Well then, what caused the alarm?"

He laid a hand on her shoulder, and her heart beat settled somewhat. "Claire, calm down. As near as I can figure, there was a computer glitch of some sort. Computers, unfortunately, are _not_ my area of expertise -- at least not once you go beyond basic functions. That's why it took me so long to shut the thing down."

Yeah, right. She bet Wesker's definitions of "basic functions" would leave her reeling. "So why do we have to vacate?"

"Because one glitch in the computer may lead to another," he explained patiently, "and since this _is_ an Umbrella facility, it does come equipped with a self-destruct mechanism."

Her eyes widened in comprehension. He took her elbow and led her into the corridor, another bland and pointless Umbrella hallway. "We're in a rather isolated region. I'll have to gather some supplies before we brave the outdoors."

"Where are we going?" she demanded, half-jogging to keep up.

"It's a short walk to the facility garage, but the weather is rather bitter. I wouldn't want you collapsing of frostbite." He drew her around a corner and paused. "Wait here, Miss Redfield. I'll get what is needful and be back."

Her eyes narrowed as she waited for the other shoe to drop. "You're just going to leave me here?"

"I'll be faster without you. Besides..." He smiled thinly. "There's nowhere to run. I can find you anywhere in the facility, and even if I didn't, all outside communications have been cut off. You'd still be trapped, Miss Redfield. I'm your only means of escape -- again." He took a few steps, paused, and turned back to her. "It would make things much easier if I returned to find you waiting here, dear heart. And it would be safer for all concerned."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I've got it."

And in a flash he was gone.

Claire leaned against the wall. For a second she considered running, but Wesker was right: there was nowhere to run. And no time to run in, not if he used his customary speed. He'd managed to distort the facts in his favour, though. Sure, she was now dependent on him to rescue her from this bloody place; yes, it had happened before. But both times her presence was the direct result of Wesker himself.

She hadn't let herself think much about her daring rescue and subsequent imprisonment, mostly because she felt like a fool. But now... She felt the ghost of Wesker's arms around her and shuddered. God, what was she _doing_?

There was a movement in the hall behind her. "Get what you need?" she asked, turning to face it.

Nothing.

For a moment Claire blinked in the shadows, wondering if Wesker was toying with her. But then she heard it, a sound she'd hoped never to hear again -- a long, low, rattling breath followed by the sound of something wet scuttling across the floor...

Oh my God.

The base is _abandoned_, she reminded herself frantically. But no amount of positive thinking was going to block out that sound. And it could only mean one thing.

Somewhere in this hallway, a licker was moving closer.

Quickly she assessed her options. No gun. No knife. No weapon of any kind. No way of calling for help, and no way of knowing whether Wesker would return in time to save her.

Which left her only one choice.

Spinning so fast she nearly fell over, Claire began to run.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_For Now_

Claire skidded around a corner, grabbing a doorknob in her fingers and using it to yank herself upright. Mercifully, amazingly, the doorknob twisted, and she plunged into a dark room, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, breathing heavily. "Not good not good not good not good," she gasped, her own voice restoring a spark of sanity to the situation.

But not much.

She pressed her ear to the door, listening for the licker in the halls, but heard nothing. Reluctant to leave the door unguarded, she fumbled along the walls, hoping for a light switch. For once luck was with her, and a string of flourescents flickered to life, bathing the room in their sickly glow.

A lab. Cautiously, she entered, every sense alert for trouble. But nothing jumped out at her, nothing attacked.

So much for Wesker's abandoned base, she thought bitterly, searching for a piece of usable equipment. The place had been ransacked when its previous owners vacated, however, and she couldn't even find a decent computer, much less some sort of weapon.

Okay, she tried to calm herself. Okay. Wesker said it himself -- he can find you anywhere in the complex. And he will, probably soon. A licker isn't going to pose much of a challenge to him. You'll be all right as long as you keep your head and don't do anything stupid.

Of course, stupid moves seemed to be her trademark lately, but this time she firmly planned on sitting still until Wesker came along to rescue her, and pride be damned. She sank into an uncomfortable metal chair and held her head, forcing herself to breathe steadily, to ignore the cold and the fear. Her own breaths echoed in her ears, terrifyingly reminiscent of the licker's, until she began to imagine a soft echo in the background...

She jerked upright.

Her heart hammering so loudly it almost deafened her, Claire took a breath and held it.

The echo continued, slow and distant, but unmistakable.

She flew across the room and cracked the door, keeping her body weight poised to slam it shut in the event of a sudden attack. But she couldn't hear or see anything in the corridor -- the rattling breath was coming from somewhere behind her.

Carefully she eased the door shut, pressing her back to it once more and casting frantic looks around. Where was the thing? Did she dare risk the hall again? Or would it have a buddy waiting there? They weren't team hunters, were they? She'd seen two together, but she didn't think they'd displayed more than rudimentary intelligence...

The breathing continued to echo through the lab, slightly louder now but still with that faint hollow sound...

Unbidden, her eyes traveled to the ceiling. "You son of a bitch," she whispered, suddenly realizing why she'd mistaken the licker's rasps for an echo. "You're in the vents!"

What now? Run into the hall? The damn thing could track her all the way to -- where? Where could she run? _What was she supposed to do?_

Well, one thing was for sure: she wasn't about to sit around praying for Wesker to save her. Sure, he'd proven himself slightly more complex than she'd initially credited him with, but that didn't mean he couldn't change back in an instant.

Although he'd saved her life... brought her little luxuries... held her all through the night...

Damn it, Claire, fix your mind on the present!

She didn't have much time. Kicking off her shoes, hoping the licker wouldn't track her footsteps, she tiptoed into the lab, searching for something, _anything_, that might be of some use to her. But Umbrella had ransacked the place. A few stray tools lingered here and there, as though they'd left in a hurry, but nothing of any use.

Her eyes fell on a scalpel, half-tucked behind a desk as though it had been dropped and forgotten in the evacuation. Without hesitating she snatched it up, knowing even as she did that it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. A three inch knife against one of those creatures? Good luck.

But if she had to go down, she was going down fighting.

She could still her it shuffling through the vent, its hideous breaths rattling all around her. Carefully, she placed her back to a wall and eased herself onto a desk, crouching, fingers trembling around the scalpel. Maybe Wesker would show up after all; maybe she wouldn't have to use it...

With a piercing shriek, the licker crashed through the ceiling, landing on the ground in front of her with its limbs splayed like a spider's. It's tongue snaked lazily forward, probing the distance in front of it, as Claire realized that by some bizarre stroke of luck it had landed with its back to her.

She didn't stop to think. Throwing herself forward, she stabbed the scalpel into the base of what she presumed to be its neck.

The licker screamed and thrashed beneath her, its slimy muscles heaving her to one side. Claire rolled, trying to control an impulse to retch at the smell of the thing, the feel of its membranes sliding over her skin. It continued to thrash, clearly not dead but momentarily distracted by the blade protruding from its neck.

A moment was all she needed. Scrambling to her feet, Claire spun and ran.

She tore blindly through the corridors, praying she wouldn't run into anything else, hoping to find Wesker around every corner. What the hell was taking him so long anyway? But then, if she didn't know where she was, neither did he. He'd find her -- she had little doubt of that -- but every second she kept on the move would make his task more difficult. And she _really_ didn't want to piss him off, not right now.

Find somewhere to hide, she ordered herself, even as the part of her hungry for action, the part that had driven her to search out Wesker, to the island base, to hunt for Chris in the first place, screamed in protest. But there was no room to bargain this time, not without some sort of weapon. She'd lucked out with the scalpel, and now she didn't even have that.

A functioning work station gave off a dim glow in the distance. Claire threw herself over it, stabbing keys on the keyboard at random, searching for some kind of useful information. There -- a facility map. She scanned it for exits, wondering if she could escape on her own, but realized to her dismay that she was about as close to the center of the base as she could get. Any escape route would take her through a maze of tunnels where she would possibly get lost and probably get eaten.

Time for Plan B.

So where would Wesker be most likely to find her? She scanned the facility layout, then jabbed at it with her finger. There -- a security substation nearby. Security meant heavy doors, computer monitors and, she hoped and prayed, weaponry -- although the way this base had been cleared out, she knew it wasn't likely. Still, it was her best bet. She took note of its position and set off at a dead run.

Something shuffled down a corridor to her left. Claire ignored it, bending her head and running for all she was worth, every second anticipating the feel of claws in her neck. Zombies she could deal with, or at least _a_ zombie. Lickers, hunters, _tyrants_... that was another story.

She reached the security station without incident, slamming and bolting the door behind her as she dropped to the cement floor and sucked huge gasps of air into her burning lungs. Too late, she realized there might be creatures in the station with her, but when she forced herself to her feet she found nothing obvious lurking around any corners.

At last she sank into a chair and took note of her surroundings. It was a long, curving room with a series of empty weapons lockers (of course), a shelf of training manuals and procedure descriptions, and a huge wall of monitors, some displaying only static, others revealing empty corridors. On one she saw a creature she didn't recognize lying half-asleep on a metal grate. It was curled up in a way that almost made it resemble a puppy, if you turned the puppy inside out and gave it a tail of spiky red spears.

She spent a few moments catching her breath, then forced herself to inspect the monitors more closely. Much of the computer equipment was indecipherable to her; like most of her generation, Claire was a fair hand with electronic media, but Umbrella's technology was simply beyond her. More to keep herself occupied than anything else, she found a manual on the bookshelf, flipped to the index, and scanned for anything of use.

A heading caught her eye -- _Outside Communications_.

Heart thudding, she turned to the referenced page. 82, 84, 88... Damn! Someone -- _I wonder who that could be_ -- had torn the relevant page from the manual.

She tossed it across the room in frustration, then crossed to the monitors and began stabbing buttons at random. Nothing much happened, although a few monitors changed their views, and one went entirely black. She didn't see Wesker on any of them.

A small silver disc lay nearby. Claire picked it up, looking for some sort of label, but it was blank. She scanned the equipment, found a slot that looked like it might fit the disc, and slid it home.

One of the dark screens leaped to life, displaying the word LOADING. A moment later, it offered her the option to resume play from the beginning. Shrugging, Claire hit enter.

Her jaw dropped as the screen resolved itself into an image of herself in Wesker's arms. My God, he'd _videotaped_ them? What? And how?

And more to the point, why?

A sickening knot formed in her stomach as she began cycling through the monitors, working them to the best of her ability until she found one that reflected her prison, the bed rumpled as she'd left it, a heap of her clothes on the floor.

He'd been _watching_ her?

No. Not necessarily. Umbrella monitored everything; just because there was a camera in her room didn't mean Wesker was using it...

But he certainly knew about it. She ejected the disc and turned it over in her hand. Why copy this little moment of intimacy to a disc? Why keep it at all? Unless...

"Ah, Miss Redfield." The voice came from behind her, familiar and mocking, the trace of gentleness that had so lately begun to infuse it vanished. She spun to find Wesker watching her, an amused expression on his face as he focused on the disc in her hands.

"I had to run," she explained quickly, her heart in her throat. Something was wrong here, very very wrong, and she hadn't quite put the pieces together... "There was a creature... You said this base was empty!"

"I was mistaken. It doesn't happen often, but I am only human."

Her heart twisted, almost choking her. Slowly, she raised the disc. "And this?"

"Did you watch it?"

Was there any point in lying? "Yes."

"So you know." A slow smile spread across his face. "Well, that does make things easier. No more amusing communications for your brother, unfortunately, but nonetheless..."

"Wait a minute. You sent this to my _brother_?"

His expression turned almost pitying. "Poor Claire. Haven't you figured it out yet?" In a flash he was at her side, the disc in his hand, her wrist crushed in his grip. She cried out and he forced her arm further down, his face inches from her own. "I told you once before you were nothing but a pawn in this game. You should have listened."

"You son of a bitch," she growled, unable to stop the tears spilling over her lashes.

He laughed at her, fueling her rage. "Yes. And now Miss Redfield, I suggest we leave this place, before any more of Umbrella's little freakshow escapes to make our lives more interesting. Unless you'd prefer me to leave you?"

She glared at him, wishing she could give the answer she wanted, refusing to give him any satisfaction. He laughed at her again, then shoved her towards the exit. "Get dressed, dear heart. It's cold outside."

A coat and heavy gloves lay in a heap on a bench, a pair of boots nearby. She glared at him again, but didn't dare disobey.

Not yet, anyway.

_You idiot_, she cursed herself as she pulled the bulky clothes over her sweater. _How could you let him deceive you? And Chris! My God, what must he think of me?_

"Time to go," Wesker announced, and she found herself being dragged down the hall, almost losing one of the gloves as it fell from her hand. She managed to snatch it up and stumble after him, fuming inside.

For now, she was dependent on him. For now, he had the power, the control. She had to do what he said or die trying to escape -- if he was kind enough to kill her. For now, Wesker was her only hope of survival, even as he remained her captor, dominating her with more ruthlessness than she'd believed even him capable of.

For now.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

_Behold, this dreamer cometh..._

Jill was having the dream again.

She'd die of embarrassment if Chris ever found out, but after Raccoon City she'd seen a shrink a few times. It had been hard to find one she could talk to openly; not many people knew the full extent of the Raccoon City disaster, and Jill would be damned before she'd be the one who leaked it. But eventually she found a middle aged lady she thought she could trust and talked to her exactly four times -- enough to know that no matter how good the woman was, she couldn't give Jill what she wanted.

Because Jill wanted to forget.

During the day she almost managed it, not banishing the incidents themselves, but the emotions, the fear, the helplessness, the betrayal. It was in her dreams they surfaced.

The shrink had told her many people managed to control their dreams. Every time Jill had this particular dream she tried. She always knew it was a dream, always knew, with a sickening sensation in her gut, what would happen next. But no matter how she tried, she could never make herself act any differently -- never change the outcome.

Maybe the outcome wasn't meant to be changed...

Her heart still drumming from the events outside, she paced the lushly carpeted mansion hallway. "What is this place, Wesker?" she demanded, just to hear her own voice, just to calm her raging nerves.

"Keep your eyes open," he replied, his flat, cool voice reassuring her rather than not. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was there and immediately felt ashamed -- she was a STARS officer, after all, and didn't need to depend on anyone but herself.

On the other hand, she didn't think anything in her training had mentioned creatures like she'd seen outside. God... was the entire Bravo team already dead? "What's taking Chris so long? We should have gone with him."

"I'll give the orders, thank you, Miss Valentine."

She flushed and turned to find him scrutinizing her. "I didn't mean to sound critical," she mumbled. "Sir. I'm just worried about him."

"Chris can take care of himself. Give him another minute or two. We'd have heard if something went wrong."

She nodded and resumed pacing the floor, fingers stroking the trigger of her gun -- safety off, fully loaded. She planned to shoot first and ask questions later.

As long as whatever she shot didn't turn out to be a teammate.

A sudden cry made her spin, drawing her weapon to shoulder height and aiming it at the door Chris had vanished through. But the cry hadn't been Chris's -- it was too high, too shrill, too inhuman. "Chris!" she cried nonetheless.

"Jill, no." Wesker snapped, holding her back. He edged towards the door, gesturing for her to take the other side.

Halfway there, another cry arrested them, this one coming from somewhere deep in the mansion. Jill spun and felt terror threatening to overwhelm her. She'd been in plenty of sticky situations before, but nothing like this -- this was insane, unreal, unbelievable. If she hadn't been the one living it, she'd have thought she was dreaming.

_A dream a dream wake up Jill, it's just a dream, run run run..._

"Wesker," she whispered, hating the tremor in her voice as she stood by the stairs, gun hanging indecisively from one finger, "what the hell is going on here?"

"Do you really want to know, Miss Valentine?"

Something in his voice alerted her, would have alerted her even if she hadn't played this scene out a thousand times, every detail, every second. She spun a moment too late as his hand closed over her wrist, wrenching it back, and she released a cry of her own as her weapon tumbled to the floor -- or would have if his leather clad hand didn't clamp over her mouth. He peered at her over his glasses, eyes flashing and menacing, a look she'd never seen there before, and she began to tremble. "Do you really want to know?" he whispered again. He released her jaw and stroked the side of her face. Too paralyzed to move or speak, Jill could only gape at him, her mind reeling as she struggled to come to terms with what was happening. "Do you really want to know, Jill?" he asked again, the beginnings of a mocking grin on the corners of his lips. "There now dear heart, don't look so frightened. This will be far easier for you than for Chris. I promise."

Chris... oh God, Chris... She opened her mouth to scream a fraction of a second too late. Something heavy struck the back of her head, and she slumped into his waiting arms.

-----

_A dream a dream how do you wake up in a dream wake up with a knife a gun a cannon anything anything Jill wake up wake up wake up..._

She blinked the room into focus. She was lying on a wooden bench in a grey concrete room, about ten feet square, very tall. The only break in the monotony of grey pavement -- besides the bench itself -- was a solid looking door with an opening three quarters of the way up.

Someone peered in through that opening.

Jill recoiled, instinctively groping for her weapon, wincing at the cruelty of his laughter. "Captain?" she gasped. "What's going on?"

"You're not that stupid, Miss Valentine. I know. I trained you, after all."

Her heart stuck in her throat, but still she clung fiercely to her trust, to her devotion to this man. "No."

"Yes. Oh, yes." He laughed again. "Years of planning, Jill, just waiting for this moment."

"Where am I?"

"A cell in the depths of the Umbrella facility. Don't look so frightened, dear heart. I told you. This will be much easier for you."

"What do you mean?"

His eyebrows went up. "Believe it or not, I've a soft spot where you're concerned, Jill. Oh yes," he added, cynically amused at the disgusted skepticism on her face. "After all, I handpicked you, hand-trained you. In a very real sense, you're mine. And I decided I'd prefer you not be eaten alive. I can collect all the data I need from your teammates. You, on the other hand, will be quite safe in this room -- until, that is, the facility self-destructs."

The blood drained from her face. "Wesker, no," she pleaded. "Throw me out there with whatever the others are facing. Give me a chance!"

"A chance to be eaten alive?"

The bluntness of the expression made her shudder, but she stood her ground. "Anything is better than sitting here waiting for death."

"You haven't seen what's out there, Miss Valentine."

"I got a pretty good glimpse of it outside."

"You think those beasts are the worst Umbrella has to offer?"

She sagged against the wall, closing her eyes. He wasn't going to let her go. She was trapped in this concrete tomb, trapped until it collapsed in on itself and on her.

"How much confidence do you have in Chris?"

Her eyes flew open. "I have every confidence in Chris Redfield."

"Then you've nothing to fear. There are only two possibilities: either Chris dies and I activate the self-destruct code, or he kills me and comes to fetch you." A mocking smile danced across his face. "Unless he leaves without you. But he would never do that, would he?"

Her face betrayed her answer. Of course Chris would never knowingly leave her, anymore than she would knowingly leave him. But if he thought her dead... or safe with Wesker... or...

Unable to help herself, she lunged for the door, slamming against it and fixing her face to the opening. Wesker didn't retreat a step, so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Go to hell."

"That's no way to speak to your commanding officer."

"Open this door," she seethed, "and I'll show you who's in _command_."

He only smiled. He turned his back and walked away, and she never saw him again.

Correction: she never saw him _human _again.

-----

Shifting in her sleep, Jill moaned softly. She had never told the others what happened between her and Wesker in the mansion, and they'd never asked, although once or twice Chris looked like he might. She couldn't tell him. It was too degrading, too...

It left her too vulnerable.

And now he was doing it again -- striking at their weak spots, tearing them to pieces. It wasn't enough for him to destroy their bodies, he had to take their minds, their spirits, their souls.

What had they ever done but serve him faithfully? Was this how Wesker responded to loyalty?

But she already knew the answer.

In her sleep she moaned again, softly, not waking Chris, who slept with one arm slung over her side.

It would never end.


	15. Chapter 15

_My apologies for the late update. My grandmother passed away recently and I had to go out of town for the funeral. I'm back now though :)_

Chapter Fifteen

_Detonate_

Gone were the gentle strokes on her arm, the guiding hand on her elbow. One of Wesker's leather clad hands encircled her wrist, hauling her along behind him, not even pausing when she stumbled or tripped. Claire's eyes burned with the efforts to restrain tears, and she'd already damn near bitten through her lip to keep from screaming every name in the book in his direction. It wasn't just fear keeping her silent, either, or at least, not fear of _him_. So far they'd already run into another Licker, two hunters, and one slimy thing that bore a passing resemblance to a snake. Wesker hadn't commented on any of them; he'd simply dealt with them.

They were rushing toward a nearby exit, and Claire wasn't putting up much of a struggle. She couldn't afford to, not now, not trapped in the middle of a remote base with angry creatures and a disabled comm system. Once they escaped, though...

What then? she asked herself bitterly. She'd already tried every trick she knew and then some. Time to face the facts, girl: you're Wesker's prisoner until he decides to let you go.

He jerked her to an abrupt halt. "Wait here. Put these on."

A heavy jacket struck her face before she had time to catch it. By the time she yanked it off her head, Wesker had vanished.

"Great," she muttered, shrugging into the parka. She found a pair of mitts in the pocket and yanked them on too, instantly beginning to sweat. "Just great."

A seeming eternity passed, during which every noise sent her heart flying into her throat. She kept her back to the wall, squinting into the near darkness, wondering where Wesker had gone and what exactly she would do if attacked in his absence.

But before she had time to formulate a plan, he was back, unceremoniously grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward once more. "It's cold," he warned unnecessarily, simultaneously yanking the door open.

A gust of wind struck Claire in the face and would have knocked her down if Wesker hadn't hauled her upright. She groped for the hood with her free hand, turning her face against the driving gale and trying to shelter behind Wesker's broad back, a task made difficult by the death grip he maintained on her left wrist. _My God, he doesn't even seem to notice the cold, the wind... What the hell has he turned himself into?_

She felt like they were outside forever, but it was actually only a few minutes. One second she was struggling to breathe the icy air, the next she was shoved into a relatively warm, mercifully silent building. She slumped on the floor, taking in her surroundings as Wesker bullied the door shut behind them.

The garage. She recognized the vehicle; she and Steve had used a similar one to escape the Antarctic base.

_Steve_. Another reason to hate this man. She glared at him from beneath her hood. How could she have forgotten?

Wesker ignored her completely, striding competently around the room, activating consoles and collecting keys. Claire remained slumped on the floor, exhausted. She couldn't believe how horrible the weather had been out there. Worse than the Antarctic, and she'd though she'd experienced everything the planet had to throw at her back then. This had to be a freak storm, right? It couldn't be like this all the time. Even so, who would stick a base in the middle of a place like this?

She mentally nixed that question. The same people who thought creating zombies and creatures with long sharp tongues was a fun pass-time, that's who.

"Make yourself useful, Miss Redfield," Wesker commanded sharply, making her jump. "There should be survival gear in the lockers to your right. Load what you can find."

She glared at him. "Why should I?"

"It doesn't matter to me if you do or don't. You're the one who will need it, not me."

As much as she hated to admit it, the bastard had a point. She shoved the hood off her head and crossed to the lockers, grabbing a handy backpack and cramming it full of (oh God) protein bars, trail mix, bottled water. She added an emergency blanket, a box of matches, and some fire starters, hiding them carefully beneath the food. Unfortunately she couldn't find a hatchet or a shotgun in there, but maybe she'd be able to make do with fire.

She rolled the pack onto her shoulder and turned. Wesker crouched in the circle of light near the vehicle, apparently checking fuel levels. Shadows spread around him, and from outside she could hear the wind howling like a child in pain.

Something wasn't right.

Claire froze. She'd long since learned to trust her instincts; she trusted them now. Quickly she cast her eyes around, looking for any sign of trouble.

There -- on the ceiling above him. Moving slowly, venom dripping from its mouth... "Wesker!" she shouted. "Above you!"

He rolled back as the massive spider dropped to the floor where he'd been crouching. In a single fluid movement, he grabbed one of the thing's legs and snapped it. As the spider screeched, he twisted it around and sent it flying across the room -- not, thankfully, in Claire's direction. Then, without a word of acknowledgement, he returned to his task. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

Which was fine, because Claire's heart was racing hard enough for both of them. "Spidey sense missed that one, hey?" She couldn't risk jibing.

Wesker turned his head momentarily. She felt pierced by his gaze even though she couldn't see his eyes. "Next time, Miss Redfield, perhaps I'll leave it for you to handle."

She swallowed her pride along with her retort. _Just get the hell out of here, that's all that matters_... She squeezed the backpack strap like a lifeline and started toward him.

Neither was ready for the attack that followed.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Fifteen

_Rats In A Cage_

He hit her with the force of a freight train, and she knew, because she'd nearly missed being slammed into a wall by one. The breath rushed out of her so quickly she didn't have time to scream, and then Wesker's gloved hand clamped over her mouth. "Quiet," he hissed in her ear, his weight pressing her into the ground. Claire tried to roll her head and glare at him, but he kept her utterly still, her body trapped beneath his.

And then she heard it -- a soft rattling breath. _Oh God_, she thought. Another licker.

Unless... no, it couldn't be a licker. Those clicking, wet steps -- a hunter? God she hoped not. But what else...?

Another sound assailed her, and she realized she'd never heard this one before. And then she realized, with a sudden panic that made her instinctively struggle to get free, that she heard _all_ these sounds. Creatures were advancing from somewhere nearby, maybe even directly above her for all she knew, because Wesker still hadn't released her. In fact her struggles made him tighten his hold. He flipped her over beneath him and once more imprisoned her with his weight, his dark glasses inches from her face. She felt his breath on her cheeks and shuddered. "Don't make a sound." He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. "My goal is to escape with both our lives intact, but if you endanger mine I won't hesitate to leave you. Your death is largely a matter of indifference to me. Alive, you are a toy, a pawn; dead, you are a minor inconvenience. Do you understand?"

Her throat muscles clenched and she longed to spit in his face. But the sounds were closer now -- God, were they in the building with them? -- and she forced herself to nod, although she knew her fury and hate showed on her face.

"Good." He released her with one hand and reached down to draw a Glock from his waist. To her amazement, he pressed it into her hands. "Do you see the alcove behind me?"

She stared at the gun, at him, not comprehending, her mind racing. What would a bullet to the brain do to him from this proximity? Stupid thought -- he'd never let her pull the trigger -- besides, what then? These creatures were advancing. Once again, her life was in Wesker's hands.

A soft slap brought her back to reality. The hard set of his jaw left no doubt in her mind that the slap had only been soft to minimize the noise, not the damage. "I asked if you saw it, Claire."

She forced herself to nod, although she couldn't keep herself from scowling. Wesker didn't seem to care. He jerked his head in the direction he'd indicated. "You get in there, you keep low, and you shoot anything that approaches -- except me. If you have any thoughts in that direction, Miss Redfield, I'll remind you that bullets don't kill me -- they just make me angry."

At last she spoke. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about it."

The noises were getting louder, but she still couldn't see anything. Wesker slid off her, hauling her to a crouching position alongside him. "Go," he ordered. "As quickly as you can without making a racket."

It was one command Claire lost no time in obeying. She huddled in the shadows and checked the Glock's clip -- she wouldn't put it past Wesker to give her an empty gun, but this time he'd played things straight.

A sudden clatter shot through the room, and she jerked to attention. Wesker had vanished, but at last she saw the source of the noise, or some of it -- two lickers slithering through an air vent, landing directly on top of the vehicle. They perched there, tongues probing in and out like a snake's, then slithered behind the vehicle where she lost sight of them. Claire shuddered. She liked it better when she knew where they were.

Something heavy crashed against the garage door, and she stifled a scream. The impact reverberated through the metal walls, vibrating softly against her spine.

From the ceiling, two more lickers slithered after the first, and Claire's throat clenched. My God, how many are there? And what the hell happened to Wesker? She forced her fingers to stop shaking as she steadied the Glock against her knee, leaning against the wall for support. Cool it, she told herself. It's not like you've never faced these creatures before.

No, but always before there'd been somewhere to _go_. She'd never found herself so completely, utterly trapped, her only hope of survival a man who hated her brother, who had cruelly used her and planned to do God knew what to her. How much of what he'd told her had been a lie? He'd promised not to kill her, not to rape her, God, what if that had been a lie too? Maybe death would be better -- although not death at the hands of these creatures.

Maybe she should turn the Glock on herself.

Her heart seized at the thought, and she stared at the gun with a new awareness, for the first time seeing it as something other than a weapon to protect or attack her. But she knew she wouldn't do it. She didn't have the courage, and besides, her will to live was too strong.

She hoped it wasn't a decision she'd regret later. It was easy to defy Wesker now, relatively well-fed, rested, healthy. But she distinctly remembered promising herself she'd never submit to him in any way, and she couldn't forget how quickly he'd reduced her to begging by the simple means of denying her water. What if he really set about breaking her?

Something hissed from the shadows, and with a start she realized she hadn't been paying attention. How does your mind wander in a situation like _this_? she screamed at herself furiously. The Glock dangled uselessly at her side; she quickly straightened it and aimed it into the empty darkness. The walls had stopped rattling, but she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. What happened to the creature outside?

Or the creatures outside.

Before she'd even finished the thought, a licker's piercing scream tore through the silent garage. Claire jerked up and bit her lip, choking on a scream of her own. The next second the licker came flying through the air, lunging not toward her but something in the shadows -- Wesker. Even through the creatures' howls she heard the swish of air as he vanished and reappeared, catching the licker's leg in his hand. With a flick of a wrist he twisted, breaking its leg with a sickening crunch. The thing screamed; Wesker tossed it down and stomped on its head like a bug.

Its writhing stopped immediately.

But he'd drawn their attention. Creatures were advancing from every direction, lickers and hunters and spiders and twisted things she didn't recognize, and God knew where they were coming from or what Umbrella had done here, but she'd never seen so many of them at a single time. No zombies though, she noted even through her fear. Wesker had been right about one thing -- Umbrella had evacuated this building.

They just hadn't taken the time to properly terminate their experiments. Somehow, these things had continued to grow in their absence, and something had woken them up. Now they were hungry, they were angry, and they were hunting.

And she and Wesker were the only prey around.

He moved into a dim circle of light, and she thought he looked at her, his lips twisting into a grim smile. Then she heard the swish again and watched, dumbfounded, as Wesker fought. She'd never seen anything like it in her life. She'd known he was strong of course, and fast too -- she'd been his victim herself a couple times. But she had to face the truth: she was not even close to Wesker's match. No one human was.

A sea of Umbrella's creations, on the other hand, might come close. After all, they had the same creator.

Wesker unleashed his full fury on the monsters. She could barely see him, a blur moving through the creatures in an almost graceful arc, slicing here and slashing there, releasing a gunshot now and then. Bodies began to pile up. Claire stared in fascination. She could almost forget who she was watching, _what_ she was watching. It suddenly seemed to her, paradoxically, that what remained of Wesker's humanity lay here, in this desperate fight for survival, in the smooth, flowing movements of combat.

And then one of the licker's shot out its tongue. Wesker had already begun to move but the tongue snaked around his ankle, pulling him to the floor. He rolled, reaching for his gun, but a spider dropped from the ceiling and he was forced to avoid it instead.

Claire hesitated. Wesker's speed might get him out of this, but there were so many creatures he was doing all he could to fend them off -- he didn't have time or thought to spare for an offensive. Would even Wesker tire eventually? Would his perfectly timed movements fail, would he make a mistake, would these creatures free her from his captivity?

Maybe, but even if they did, they'd be freeing her to be eaten alive. All in all, she thought she'd choose Wesker. He was just as monstrous, just as inhuman as any of these things, but at least you could reason with him, appease him, talk to him. He might be more monster than man, but he _was_ still man. Umbrella's monsters, on the other hand, were a collective pack of instincts, all of them deadly.

Her decision made, she targeted the licker's tongue and pulled the trigger. Her aim was perfect in spite of her shaking hands. The bullet tore through flesh and muscle, the licker releasing a scream more piercing than any she'd ever heard. Seconds later Wesker had vanished, the only sign of his presence the rapidly dwindling army of creatures.

It looked like they might make it after all. Claire breathed a sigh of relief -- until she noticed the spreading pool of liquid beneath the vehicle. Creeping closer, she realized with a shiver of horror that she was staring at a puddle of gasoline. Her bullet had torn right through the licker and into the gas tank, and its fuel was rapidly spreading across the floor.

How were they going to get out of here now?


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

_Rats_

"Wake up, Valentine."

Jill moaned and pulled the pillow over her head, only to have it yanked away. She swore loudly and inventively at the sunlight flooding the room. Chris crouched beside her, a mug of coffee in his hands. "Rise and shine."

"I'll kill you," she rasped, seizing the mug and downing its contents in a single gulp. She groped for her alarm clock and found it had been unplugged. "What time is it?"

"You don't really want an answer to that, do you?"

"Why the hell are you waking me up?" She eyed him suspiciously. Chris Redfield looked particularly good this morning, clean and shaven, eyes alert and sparkling with humor. She knew she looked like a drowned rat because she always did in the morning, even when she woke at a more reasonable hour than she suspected this was. She could only imagine the contrast they made. "And why are you in such a good mood?"

He leaped into bed beside her and rolled over, taking her with him, ignoring her yelp of protest. When he had her tucked firmly beneath him, he smiled and smoothed her tangled hair away from her face. "Because it's time we took our lives back."

"You're not taking your life back, you're taking my morning back. And I don't appreciate it."

He shook his head. "Wesker's been in charge for too long, Valentine. It's time the two of us took control of the situation."

"I _had_ control. I was _sleeping_." He only laughed, and she shook her head in frustration. "All right, what exactly do you have planned this time?"

"Absolutely nothing." He beamed at her like a schoolboy awaiting praise.

"Nothing." She squirmed, trying to free herself of him or at least the bedclothes, to no avail. "That's your brilliant strategy for taking back your life? _Nothing_?"

"Exactly. See, the problem here is that Wesker knows us too well."

"That's one of the problems, yes," she agreed, glaring at him. "Exactly how early is it?"

"So every move we make he anticipates. And he relies on us being too proud to look to anyone else for help."

"Woah." This time she succeeded in dislodging him, pulling herself to a sitting position. Chris flopped down beside her and rested on one elbow, eyeing her tank top appreciatively. "If you're talking about our contacts, may I remind you we don't _have_ contacts anymore? Not after our last fiasco."

"Not our contacts. Private assistance."

"You mean _mercenaries?_"

Chris shrugged. "Call him what you like."

Warning bells went off inside her head. "Him? Who exactly are we talking about, Chris?"

"Someone who knows Umbrella, and Wesker, better than we do. Someone he'd never expect to be looking for him."

"You're playing games with me, and it's not a good idea. I'm tired, I'm irritable, and there's a gun under my pillow."

"You mean this one?" He held up her Glock and beamed at her.

"And the one behind the headboard?" His face paled, and she pressed her advantage. "Who did you call, Chris?"

If he said ghostbusters, she'd kill him. But he shrugged in defeat. "Hunk."

"_Hunk_?"

"Yeah, you know -- the guy who worked for Umbrella when..."

"I know who he is!" She stared at him in disbelief. Hunk, the loudmouthed mercenary who'd tried to kill her once in Denmark, who'd shot Chris through the arm, who'd unleashed the bloody T-Virus on Raccoon City -- and Chris was sitting here smiling like a moron, telling her he'd just placed their futures in his hands.

-----

A break in the onslaught allowed Wesker to inspect the damage. An instant later he was at her side. "You shot the gas tank," he remarked almost conversationally.

"I know."

"How do you suggest we escape now?"

"You're the monster. Can't you pull something out of your sleeve?"

Too late, she realized his calm masked throbbing fury. His hand shot out and seized her throat, not squeezing hard enough to asphyxiate her but making breathing a struggle. The world swam before her eyes and he loosened his grip fractionally, refusing to allow her even the retreat of unconsciousness. "Typical Redfield," he snarled. "Make a mess and hope someone else cleans it up. You're lucky I need you, Miss Redfield -- or maybe not. A day or two outside and you may begin to wish I'd left you for dead."

He dropped her to the floor, but her breath came no easier. "Outside?"

"You have another suggestion?"

She didn't, but there had to be _something_. She racked her brain, but the only suggestion she could come up with was _sit and wait for death_. "You want to _walk_ to safety? I'll never survive out there."

"No fear, dear heart -- you won't get off that easily. I'll keep you alive." He smiled grimly. "It won't be pleasant, and I can't guarantee you'll come through with every limb intact. But I'll see to it you survive."

The Glock in her hand was starting to look more appealing. As if reading her thoughts, Wesker wrenched it from her grasp. "I'll handle things from here, thank you, Miss Redfield. You've done enough."

"I saved your life," she pointed out irritably.

"No you didn't." And before she could argue he vanished, leaving her alone and defenseless in the alcove.

_Son of a bitch_, she swore silently. How had he managed to make her feel guilty when _he_ was the one responsible for the situation? Yeah, she'd shot the fuel tank; stupid move, she admitted it. But it wasn't like she'd had time to think.

And she _had_ saved him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Twice.

As Chris would say, big mistake.

A low hissing caught her attention. The creatures were regrouping. She shrank into the shadows, cursing Wesker for taking her gun. What was he worried about? She'd already shot the fuel tank; what more harm could she do?

None, she realized grimly. He wasn't worried at all. It was just another tactic to keep her helpless, on her toes, at his mercy -- if such a thing existed.

The hissing grew louder. "What the hell is that?" she whispered out loud.

At first she wasn't sure what she was looking at. Another licker? Pink and massive and puffy, it protruded from the hole in the ceiling, twitched once, and withdrew. Then it reappeared, followed by a massive, hairy snout, a set of long fangs, and gleaming eyes the size of her fists...

"Oh, my God," she gasped. It was a giant rat.

It landed on the vehicle with a resounding clang, the roof caving under its weight. Slowly, its massive tail swishing behind it, it advanced, sniffing the air almost delicately.

Another one dropped behind it, and another. The first rat leaped to the floor and the swarm followed, gushing from the hole like water from a hydrant. All at once, Wesker was at her side again, and without meaning to Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She hated rats when they were small and gross; huge and predatory, they were definitely not something she wanted to encounter.

"Where'd you get that?" she demanded, finally realizing Wesker clutched a grenade launcher in his hands.

He dropped her abandoned mitts on her lap in response. "Get dressed, Miss Redfield. It's time for us to leave."

Great. So she could choose between being eaten alive by rats, beaten to death by Wesker, or freezing to death outside. Her life just got better and better.

For the time being, freezing to death seemed the preferable option, so she hastily obeyed, yanking things on and shut and tighter. Wesker waited until she'd finished, grabbed her arm, and targeted the far wall. "Hang on," he told her, drawing her against him. "Turn your face against me." She glared and started to speak, but he snapped, "Don't make me repeat myself, Claire. It's for your benefit, not mine."

She stole a glance into the garage, which was rapidly filling with mutant rodents. Deciding she'd rather not see what would happen after all, she allowed Wesker to pull her closer, burying her face in his chest.

A crack and recoil let her know he'd triggered a grenade. She heard the rats yowl and the unpleasant scent of roasting hair filled the room. He released another, and another. Explosions surrounded her, assaulting her nostrils, her ears, but all she could see was the darkness of Wesker's vest. His free hand remained clamped tightly around her.

She had a second's warning, a snapping sound alerting her that he was about to move, and then the wind buffeted her as Wesker tore from the garage at full speed, Claire clasped tightly in his arms.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_Construction_

Jill's fingers turned white around the receiver. "Let me explain something to you, Wesker. If you want to get to Chris, you'll have to go through me."

Wesker laughed mirthlessly. "Is that supposed to be a problem?"

"Sure messed up your plans last time."

All at once, his voice dropped to its characteristic deadpan dryness. "Miss Valentine, you bore me profoundly. Inform Chris that if he's interested in seeing his sister again, he'll contact me at the number I've left you. That's all."

For a moment Jill stared at the receiver. In spite of the turmoil exploding at the sound of her former captain's voice, her trained ear had gathered impressions: wind howling in the background, a great deal of static, and something else -- something that might have been a girl whimpering.

She'd leave that last part out when she talked to Chris.

She stared at the number she'd jotted on a pad of paper in spite of herself. Did she dare?

She imagined Chris making the call, and decided she did. Quickly, before she could lose her resolve, she punched in the numbers, steeling herself for the sound of Wesker's voice.

"Hello?"

For a moment, Jill staggered. Definitely not Wesker, unless he'd undergone some pretty radical surgery in the last forty five seconds. "Um..." She forced herself to swallow. "Who the hell is this?"

"Who the hell is this?" the voice shot back, female and cold, professional, hard.

"Jill Valentine. Wesker left me this number."

"Oh." The woman sounded amused. "He told me not to talk to anyone but Chris, Miss Valentine."

"You're looking for Chris. I'm looking for Wesker. What do you say we cut the crap and talk to each other?" A long silence, during which Jill put two and two together and came up with five. "This is Ada Wong, isn't it."

"Ada?" The other woman sniffed disdainfully. "Hardly. My name is Matsushita Yukiko. If we're going to talk to each other, you can call me Yuki."

Jill didn't miss a beat. "Where's Claire?"

Neither did Yuki. "With Wesker."

"So where's Wesker?"

"With Claire."

Jill released her breath in a long, steady exhale. "Listen up, _Yuki_. I really don't have time for this. Are you going to talk to me or not?"

"We are talking, Miss Valentine. But if you must know, Mr. Wesker has decided to release his prisoner -- for a price."

_Mr. Wesker_. The words sounded strange and alien to Jill, who'd known him only by his title, Captain. "That goes without saying. What kind of price?"

"Fifty million dollars."

Jill choked and had to spend a few minutes coughing before she could sputter, "Fifty million? Where in the seven circles of hell are we supposed to get fifty million dollars?"

"Cash. Delivered by Chris Redfield."

"And what the hell does Wesker need fifty million for anyway? I thought the whole point of his little scheme was to get rich quick!"

"Tell Mr. Redfield to come alone this time. Mr. Wesker tolerated his antics before, but this time he will be watching. If he sees anyone other than Chris, he will simply kill the hostage."

"It's not like Wesker couldn't walk into any bank in the world and get out before security realized anything was missing!"

"Miss Valentine." Even without seeing the other woman, Jill knew she was smiling. "I strongly doubt that Mr. Wesker is in financial need."

"Then why is he doing this?"

"I don't know. I don't ask questions. It's not in my job description."

"And what is?" Jill demanded furiously. "Murder? Extortion? Kidnapping?"

"Confidentiality, for one thing."

"You're pathetic. You're Wesker's puppet, nothing more, and when he's done with you he'll drop you like -- like..."

"He dropped you?" Yuki laughed. "I doubt that, Miss Valentine, I really do. But it wouldn't matter if it were true -- as long as I get paid. Now, charming and entertaining though this conversation has been, I think it's time to bring it to a close, don't you? Fifty million dollars. Take all the time you need to find it -- Wesker's in no hurry. But keep in mind that every second you waste is a second you leave Miss Redfield at his mercy."

Jill snorted. "Does he have any?"

"None that I've ever seen, no. When you've gathered the funds, contact me again at this number. And Miss Valentine?" Yuki's voice took on a nasty, mocking tone. "Have a nice day."

The line went dead in Jill's ear.

For a moment she stood staring at the receiver, then swore as loudly as she dared and kicked the wall. Great. Right on the heels of Chris' bright idea to hire mercenaries -- no, not mercenaries, _the_ mercenary -- Wesker dropped a hint as to his location. "Damn," she swore again, very softly. Of course she'd have to tell Chris. How could she not? But what the hell would he do with the information?

Somehow, Jill wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

-----

"That was fun." Yuki leaned back on the chair and kicked off her heels, propping her feet on Ada's bed.

"A real barrel of monkeys," Ada agreed dryly. The two women studied each other -- not friends, perhaps, but not the enemies they'd once been, either. "Why _do_ you think Wesker wants that money?"

Yuki shrugged. "To pay me, I hope."

Ada snorted in response. "Dream on."

"I don't know. Maybe just to make their lives more difficult."

Ada inclined her head in agreement, unconsciously running her hands over her scarred cheek. One more week, the doctors had promised her. One last surgery in one last week, and they'd have done all they could do. She caught Yuki watching her and quietly asked, "How bad is it?"

Inclining her head, the other woman pursed her lips. "Not nearly as bad as it was."

"That much I know. You didn't answer my question."

Yuki shrugged. "What do you want me to say, Ada? You've seen yourself in the mirror. It's noticable, if that's what you're asking. But I don't think anyone's going to mistake you for Frankenstein's monster." A slightly mocking grin touched her lips. "Wesker certainly didn't, did he?"

Ada's jaw dropped. "How did you...?"

"It's a small complex, Ada. The walls are thin, and the common room is right next door." She rose and stretched like a cat, tucking her tiny feet back into her shoes with a sigh. "Next time, shove your face in a pillow or something, would you? For everyone's sake."

Flushing furiously, Ada demanded, "Where are you going?"

"To follow more orders, of course. Don't worry -- he has things waiting for you once you're up and about. You're not being elbowed out." She smiled slightly. "_Ganbatte, Ada-san_. I'll smuggle in a bottle of tequila or something, okay?"

Ada forced a smile. "That'd be great." Only when the woman left did she flop back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling, afloat somewhere between embarrassment and anger. Had the whole facility heard her and Wesker that night? And why, why, _why_ had he left contacting Redfield up to Yuki and not Ada? Sure, Ada was bedridden, but she could handle a phone call!

Sighing, she closed her eyes. No sense worrying about it for now. She only hoped Yuki was right, that she wasn't being elbowed out. Because she rather liked Yuki Matsushita.

It would be a shame if she had to kill her.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_Cold_

Claire turned her face into Wesker's chest, instinctively seeking out the small amount of heat radiating from him. Her legs had gone numb ten minutes ago, and Wesker had simply swept her into his arms and carried her. He was moving fast; she could tell by the force of the wind, although the heavy parka protected her from the worst of it.

She had no idea how long they'd been moving. The facility had long since vanished in swirling snow, and she'd seen nothing but an endless sea of white since. Still, Wesker continued on in a straight and determined line, seeming to know exactly where they were going.

She hoped he did. Otherwise she was going to freeze in this God-forsaken hellhole. She might freeze anyway, come to think of it; she didn't know if Wesker realized how cold she actually was. Her teeth chattered remorselessly, sending jolts of pain down the tensed muscles of her back, and she'd pulled her numb fingers out of her gloves so as to bunch them into fists for warmth. Her feet were dry but burning with pain, and she marveled that so much cold could feel so damn hot.

Nestled in Wesker's arms, drowsiness threatened to overtake her, but he was prenaturally aware of her, and every time she started to drop off he roughly jostled her into wakefulness. She had wanted to protest when he lifted her but hadn't had the energy to resist, not that her resistance would have mattered. She hated his arms around her, the solid warmth of his chest against her, and yet she wriggled as close to him as physically possible, instinctively seeking out what little warmth remained in his inhuman body.

All at once, she became aware that the wind had lessened. She shifted, wondering if she dared peek outside the cocoon she'd made of her hood. After a moment the choice was taken from her as Wesker simply dropped her to the ground. She cried in pain as her numb, frostbitten limbs struck the cold, hard ground, fighting a fresh wash of tears that would doubtless turn to ice. Shaking the hood from her head, she glared at her captor.

He towered above her, shadowed in the cave's entrance. Only a small amount of light streamed in around him. The cave wasn't warm, but it felt positively toasty after the blizzard outside its walls. She tried to stand and found her legs too weak to support her. Pain knifed through her limbs, and she slumped back to the ground.

Wesker seized her arm and yanked her back to her feet, ignoring her cry. "Walk," he commanded.

"Walk where?" she managed around her dry throat, her frozen lips.

"Around, Miss Redfield. Get the feeling back in your legs."

She started to slump back to the ground, but he yanked her back, striking her with the back of his hand. She reeled from the blow, the world momentarily spinning around her. Rationally she knew it hadn't been a hard slap -- the last time Wesker had backhanded her, she'd flown twenty feet through the air, and this time she was still standing. But the pain joined the myriad of tiny aches and stiffnesses already plaguing her, and it was all she could do not to cry at the added torment. "Now," he ordered. "Before you force me to get harsher."

She glared, helpless, and clutched the rocky walls, taking one painful step after another. Feeling flooded back into her legs, her feet, and they burned in agony. She sank her teeth into her lip, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing her agony.

Movement consumed her entire mind for several minutes. As the initial pain began to recede, she slowly became aware that she was alone. Wesker had vanished.

Panic shot through her, which she instantly quelled. _Come on, Redfield. He's not going to carry you through that blizzard, force you to work the feeling back into your legs, and abandon you to die. _

No, whatever Wesker had planned for her, she doubted it would be as simple as freezing to death. She shuddered. Maybe she should make a run for it -- run as far as she could and then lie down and sleep in the snow. From what she'd heard about freezing to death, it was a pretty painless way to go -- doubtless more pleasant than whatever Wesker had in store.

But before she could act he returned, her backpack in one hand, a small vinyl bag in another. He tossed her pack to the ground at her feet and snapped something in his hand. "Is that a cell phone?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"And it _works_ out here?"

Wesker sighed. "It's a satellite phone, Miss Redfield, the most advanced the world has to offer. Actually, scratch that -- the world doesn't have it. I do. And it works virtually anywhere -- although even it won't broadcast from this cave."

"So you've called for help?"

"Help is impossible," he replied flatly, crouching over the ground with his back to her. "Nothing could reach us through this storm. We'll continue on." She moaned in spite of herself, and he chuckled softly. "Don't fear, Claire -- I'll be here to carry you when you can't go on."

"You're a son of a bitch and I hate you."

All at once she was slammed hard into the wall, his fingers bands of iron around her throat. She kicked at him furiously, the oxygen siphoning from her lungs as he squeezed. Then, when she thought she was about to pass out, he dropped her to the floor and kicked her in the stomach. What oxygen remained rushed out of her in a whoosh, and she rolled away from him, instinctively trying to protect herself. But Wesker hauled her back, his gloved fingers holding her chin so tightly her jaw bones ground together. "Watch the name calling, Miss Redfield. I don't like it. Now, apologize for that insult."

She gaped at him in disbelief. _What_? No. She started to shake her head, and he yanked her forward. She would have screamed if she'd had enough air to manage it. "We can continue this as long as you like. I assure you my stamina is greater than yours. You'll give in to me eventually, Claire, so do it now and save yourself some pain."

She resisted a moment longer, but when he raised his hand to strike her she cried, "I'm sorry!"

He froze. "What?"

"I said I'm sorry!" _you ugly son of a bitch, you cruel sadistic bastard._

Slowly he released her, running his hand along her cheek. She recoiled in disgust. "I thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. Apparently you're even stupider than I'd realized."

She clamped her mouth shut to keep from responding, knowing she'd only wind up whimpering another apology. Instead, she let her eyes express her hatred. He didn't seem to mind; in fact, he laughed at her before turning away.

Claire moaned, too exhausted and humiliated to move. She huddled in the corner of the cave and realized that, in a matter of seconds, he'd reduced her to the place she'd sworn never to be again -- reduced her to begging, willing to do anything he said in order to stop the pain.

God she hated him. She hated him with a passion so intense it was almost frightening. It stopped her brain from functioning, this hatred, made her think she might be able to attack him and get away with it.

A sudden light flared in front of him, distracting her from her fury. Wesker glanced over his shoulder at her, still wearing his dark glasses even in the cave, and half-smiled. "Don't worry, Claire. I've no intentions of letting you freeze to death."

Now she recognized the light: a small fire near the cave's entrance. "How...?" she croaked, crawling toward it.

He shook the box of matches she dimly remembered shoving into her backpack. "And firestarters. You packed efficiently, dear heart. I'm very grateful."

She ignored his sarcasm and drew as near the fire as she could, keeping him on its opposite side. Now she remembered -- she'd hoped to use the matches somehow against Wesker. Scratch that plan.

For a few minutes they sat in silence, Claire's eyes watering like melting icicles as her body slowly returned to, if not a comfortable temperature, at least a tolerable state. "Why?" she asked at last, staring into the dancing flames.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you pretend to be kind to me? Why bother?"

"I have few hobbies, Miss Redfield, but those I have I expend great energy on. Tormenting your brother happens to be one of them."

She raised her eyes to him, no longer sure if she was crying from the heat or just in general. "And that's it?"

He spread his hands. "That's it," he replied, almost gently. "You're a pawn in this game, Claire. You matter only in relation to your brother and to me."

She lowered her head, fighting a real onslaught of tears, knowing she couldn't afford them. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she sat almost on top of the fire, rocking back and forth, wishing more than anything that she'd been born with a name other than _Redfield_. Wesker watched her, and she forced herself to keep her eyes down, hating him so fiercely it burned worse than any pain, worse than the fire. She wondered what would happen if she scooped up the tiny fire on its lump of brown and threw it at his face. But she knew the answer -- he'd dodge it and make her suffer. Every plan she came up with ended the same way -- with her on her knees.

_She hated him_.

Claire had never imagined herself a killer, but now she knew if she had a gun in her hands she'd gladly pull the trigger. If someone held him down she'd spend ten minutes kicking him in the face before removing his heart. Violence exploded within her, blinding her, quickening her heart and her breath. Her hands clenched in her gloves, shaking, itching to strike.

"It's exquisite, isn't it?"

She froze, wondering if her hate had shown on her face. But his expression wasn't dangerous, mildly amused at worst. He circled the fire and crouched beside her, ignoring her attempts to shrink away. "Have you ever been tortured, Claire?"

Her heart jerked in her throat, and what blood remained in her face plummeted to her feet. He chuckled understandingly, leather hands resting, harmless for the moment, on his bent knees. "There are stages one goes through in torture," he explained. "Like everything else in life, it seems that if humans encounter it, they create stages to deal with it. Would you like to know the stages of torture, dear heart? Or should I skip to the relevant one?" She glared in lieu of an answer, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention. "There comes a moment when the victim feels stripped of his worth, as though his tormentor -- or hers, as the case may be -- has taken everything of value, as though there is nothing left that can be done to hurt him." He smiled slightly as she met his eyes, knowing her gaze reflected her shock that he'd echoed her feelings so well. "But there's another, even more intriguing moment, that comes later on -- a moment I will spare you, Miss Redfield, unless you force my hand. And that's the moment when the victim realizes he can be hurt after all -- that he has not reached the depths of his suffering, that even the indignity and humiliation he has been subjected to pale in comparison to what lies in store." One of his hands brushed her chin, making her shudder. "I can hurt you, Claire," he whispered. "I can hurt you in so many ways -- make it last so long -- hours, days... years. I can drive you mad with suffering. I can make what you've endured thus far a pleasant memory. I can do all of it -- will do all of it -- if you make me."

Her eyes filled with tears, and he smiled in satisfaction. "I hate you," she told him, all the venom in her soul channeling into those three words. "I will always hate you."

He nodded. "Good." Slowly he released her, rising to his feet. "Hate me all you like, Claire -- but whatever you do, don't stop being afraid of me. Your fear is the only thing that might keep you alive a little longer."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

_Glimmer_

Claire opened her eyes to an unfamiliar sensation. It took her a moment to analyze it. It was _warmth_.

She shifted on the hard rocks, instinctively drawing closer to the nearby embers. Her muscles screamed in protest as she eased her way to a sitting position. As she rose, Wesker's jacket fell away from where he'd obviously draped it over her. She was still wearing her parka, and he'd tucked the hood around her face. She wasn't as warm as, say, curling in front of grandma's fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate, but for the first time in what felt like weeks, she was in no immediate danger of freezing to death.

Just the thought of leaving this cocoon of warmth made her shiver. But she didn't have a choice. She'd die if she stayed here -- and even if she wanted to, she couldn't kid herself that she had any control over her circumstances. It all came back to Wesker.

Wesker.

She blinked, realizing what she'd missed in her initial rush of warmth.

Wesker was _gone_.

His pack lay in the corner, half-open, making it clear he intended to return. If he'd been anyone else she'd have worried, but where Wesker was concerned Claire was just about done with any sentiment kinder than hatred. Besides, she knew he wasn't dead. She wasn't that lucky.

She considered her captor for a moment. Rock solid body and a heart to match. An incredible brain lurked behind those dark glasses, something she thought Chris occasionally forgot. He tended to talk like Wesker was any dumb grunt he planned on taking down for knocking over a liquor store. Jill and Barry, as much as Claire disliked the former, had a better grip on Wesker's true capabilities.

God, she missed her brother. The longing surged in her heart with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed her. And close on its heels, she thought of Leon. _Leon_... Had he been there when Wesker's cruel video arrived? Did he think she'd betrayed him?

But she _had_ betrayed him, she realized. Him and Chris both. She'd allowed her brother's mortal enemy to lull her into a sense of security, to break through her defenses and make her believe he might actually have a soul. Undergrad psychobabble tried to assert itself in the back of her mind -- _Stockholm Syndrome... not your fault... isolation and mental torture..._

None of it mattered. She'd betrayed them, and in doing so she'd destroyed her only hope of rescue. She wondered if Chris was even trying to find her now, or if he'd withdrawn in disgust after Wesker's little present. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she forced them back; she'd cried enough for one lifetime. Self-pity wouldn't help her now.

So what the hell would?

She thought about that, knees drawn to her chest, staring into the red embers. It was light outside, but barely, and snow whirled in the cave entranceway. She had no idea what time it was.

Her gaze settled on Wesker's pack once more. He really was an evil genius... but even geniuses made mistakes.

Hardly daring to hope, she shook free of his jacket and crawled across the exposed rock, every second expecting a hard hand to clamp over her neck. With trembling fingers, she loosened the pack and rummaged through it.

Lying on top was his satellite phone.

She gaped at it in disbelief, her jaw working noiselessly, and there was an instant of frantic activity in which nothing at all happened. Then she snatched it up, wiggling sensation into her fingers as she groped at the buttons.

The screen broadcast a message of terror: _No signal_.

_How can there be no signal?_ she screamed at herself mentally. _It's a _satellite_ phone, for heaven's sake! Wesker got a signal! He..._

...didn't try to use it in the middle of a cave.

She closed her eyes, resigning herself to the obvious. If she wanted to use this thing, she'd have to get outside, and she'd have to get some distance from the cave, too -- because if Wesker came back and caught her with it, she had little doubt he'd kill her. It was a massive risk. If he caught her on her way in or out, if he arrived in her absence... She remembered how easily he'd handled her in the past, throwing her around like a rag doll. Another shudder tore through her, but even as it did she realized it was a risk she had to take. Otherwise she had no hope at all; she was completely at Wesker's mercy. And that thought was enough to send her running for higher ground.

The wind tore through her the second she stepped outside, almost enough to drive her back. The snow blinded her, and she realized she'd better not stray too far after all. Getting lost out here would be as much a death sentence as Wesker's fury.

She ran as far as she dared, making sure she could see her tracks in the snow and hoping they'd last long enough to follow them back. At last she knelt in the snow, shuddering in the wind, her heart hammering so loudly it hurt her ears. Every moment she expected to find herself staring into Wesker's gleaming red eyes. Her hands froze the second she slid them from her sleeves, and she struggled to press the numbers with numb fingers.

_Oh God, what do I do if it doesn't work..._

The phone began to ring through a haze of static. Her eyes fell shut and she struggled to breathe. God knew if Chris would help her, if he would hang up the second he heard her voice -- she'd betrayed him, lied to him, stolen from him... She deserved it. She deserved it.

"Hello?"

Her throat closed at the sound of his voice, the first comforting sound she'd heard in so long, the first human voice other than her tormentor's...

"Hello?"

He was her last hope, her only hope.

"Hello?"

The irritation in his tone warned her he was about to hang up. She forced herself to cry around the lump in her throat: "Chris! Wait! It's Claire."

A long silence stretched between them as she waited with bated breath for the axe to fall. "Claire? My God..."

"Chris," she sobbed, ignoring how her tears froze her cheeks, "Chris, I'm so sorry... I was so stupid... I don't know what to do, I don't..."

"Claire, calm down. Where are you?"

"I don't know. It's cold, ice and wind and snow... There was another Umbrella base. We abandoned it sometime yesterday afternoon."

"We?"

She fought to control herself. "I was so stupid, Chris. I'm so sorry."

"Claire, just... Are you hurt?"

"Not really. No. No, I'm okay."

"Where are you calling from? Where is he now?"

"I stole his phone. I don't know where he is. He left me asleep, but he'll be back any minute, and then he'll..." She dissolved into sobs again.

Chris' voice took on a tone of urgency. "Claire. Claire, listen to me. I am going to find you, okay? I am coming for you. Tell me you understand that." Her sobs intensified and so did his voice, momentarily adopting the steely hard edge of command. "Tell me you understand it, Claire."

She managed a shaky "I understand."

"What do you understand? Come on, pull it together."

She forced herself to breathe. "You're coming for me."

"That's right. You're going to be okay. Just a little longer and I'll find you, I swear it."

"I didn't think you'd talk to me -- I thought you'd be mad, that you..."

"Claire, don't even... Don't ever say that. Don't ever think it. Okay? I'm your brother, stupid. I'll always come for you." She heard him sigh even through the static. "Listen, you can't imagine how relieved I am to hear your voice, but every second we talk is a second he could catch you. You have to get back there before he notices you're gone."

"I don't think I can."

"You have to, Claire." His voice shook. "We can't risk letting him know you've talked to me. You have to erase this call from the records, get back to where he left you, and pretend you're still asleep. "

"I can't face him again!"

"He'll kill you, do you understand? He'll kill you if you're lucky!" He drew a deep breath. "Besides, as much as I hate to say it, he's probably the only one who can keep you alive in that weather until I find you. And I will find you. Whatever you do, don't forget that."

"Chris..."

"I'm hanging up now, okay? I'm going to find you, I'm going right this second. And you do what I told you. Got it?"

It almost killed her to squeeze out the words. "Yeah. I've got it."

"Okay. Love you, brat. Don't do anything stupid."

"I love you too," she said, and the line went dead.

She wished she'd had a moment to add a warning of her own. Because Chris wasn't known for rational behaviour at the best of times. And as grateful as she was that he wasn't furious with her, her heart sank as she imagined what he might try next.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

_Best Laid Plans_

Jill and Barry leaned on either side of the doorway, watching Hunk swagger around Chris' living room like he owned the place. Twin expressions of disgust glimmered on their features, and they made no effort to hide their irritation. On the other side of the room, Chris and Leon perched on chairs and stared up at the mercenary with wide, admiring eyes, like children gaping at a much-beloved teacher.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Barry muttered too quietly for anyone but Jill to hear, "he's totally lost it."

Jill wished she had it in her to disagree. She understood how Chris felt – the frustration, the anger, the desperation to act. She'd felt it herself before. And Claire had been missing for months now, longer than anyone should have to worry about someone they loved. But Hunk? She couldn't help but feel Chris was pinning all his hopes on someone without a shred of decency (or, she reflected, staring at his gaudy Hawaiian shirt, good taste). If Wesker offered him more money halfway through a fight, she had no doubt Hunk would changed sides as easily as he changed underwear. More easily, in fact.

And that was another thing: how the hell was Chris paying for this, anyway? She'd kept a surreptitious eye out for missing items the last few days and hadn't seen any, but it continued to worry her. None of them were independently wealthy, and money was becoming a real problem. The only one with a steady source of income was Barry and, much to his disgust, that came from his wife.

Barry's wife wasn't too fond of any of them these days. Jill didn't like to consider what might happen if she learned she was lending Chris money – or better still, financing his entire operation.

"Now," Hunk announced loudly – far too loudly considering they were in a six foot square room, "here's what we're gonna do. Once we find out where Wesker's got your sister, the five of us..." He glared at Jill and Barry, as though suspecting them of momentary defection. "The five of us, we're gonna storm the place, lay down some massive firepower, and..."

"Okay," Barry broke in with the air of someone who'd simply had enough. "Point of God damn order, all right? Wesker's impervious to massive firepower. Claire isn't. What if we nail her by mistake?"

Chris and Leon both tensed, and Jill felt a wave of gratitude – Barry had brought up the one consideration that might make them listen.

Hunk snorted, then wiped his nose with a filthy bandana. He spat into it, examined the result with something like pleasure, then stuffed the whole thing back into his pocket.

Jill winced.

"Don't think I don't know that, okay?" Hunk glared at Barry and, by association, Jill. He seemed to count them as the same person, an unenthusiastic and potentially dangerous portion of their team. "We don't lay down the firepower at Wesker, we lay it down around him. Not too close, not too far. He'll come to check it out, the bastard. I guarantee."

He was probably right, Jill reflected reluctantly. She couldn't imagine Wesker twiddling his thumbs while someone dropped rockets nearby. He'd have to investigate as a matter of pride.

The phone rang, and Chris leveraged himself to his feet with a sigh. "Right back," he said. He squeezed Jill's shoulder as he passed and she wished she had a comforting word, a supporting smile, anything to offer him. She didn't. Ever since he'd come up with this Hunk idea, he'd been like a dying man running toward his last hope of survival. She hated to think what might happen if Hunk failed, as he almost certainly would.

Jill wasn't a fool. Hunk was good, and she'd admit that; he was unpredictable, unethical, and unreliable, but he was very, very good.

But was he as good as Wesker?

Maybe a part of her still idolized the man, she admitted in a rare moment of raw truth. She'd held him on a pedestal when he was human, seeing him as virtually unstoppable. How much more so now that he'd sold his soul for unlimited power?

To her horror, tears blurred her vision and she forced them back. My God, if Hunk caught her crying! But why did things have to be this way?

Leon's expression had a bit more wariness now, for which Jill was grateful. She was well aware of the irony: Chris and Leon had become staunch allies against her and Barry, with Hunk in between. I hope you're happy, Claire.

An instant wave of guilt. That wasn't fair. It was Wesker. So why did it feel so much easier to blame Claire Redfield's stupidity?

She forced her attention back to Hunk and his low, hillbilly voice – deceptively stupid, she had to admit. She wondered how much of him was real and how much was an act.

"So heavy firepower," he was saying as he lounged against the computer desk. "Wesker's gonna come out to investigate, see? Way I see it, there's two alternatives. Either he comes out on his own or he hauls Carla with him."

"Claire," chorused all three, Leon through gritted teeth. Jill cheered inwardly and wished Chris was here to see it. Who the hell was he talking to, anyway?

"Yeah, Claire, whatever. Anyway, if he comes out on his own situation's easy. One of us tracks back where he came from, rescues the girl. The rest hold him off from a distance. Once Clara... Kara... the Redfield girl is safe, we sound the retreat and get the hell out.

"'Course, he might drag her along. Gets a bit more complicated then. We'll have to give him what he wants."

Jill's throat tightened. "You mean Chris."

He gave her an encouraging smile. "That's right, Valentine. I mean Chris."

"That's enough." Barry shoved away from the wall and glared into Hunk's eyes. Physically, he was the only one of them able to do this without craning his neck. "We have enough trouble with one Redfield missing. We're not sending both into the lion's den."

Hunk cackled wickedly. "Hold your horses, Burton. You're a mistrustful lot you STARS, you know that? I have a better plan than throwing Redfield to the lion, as you put it."

"None of this matters," Jill broke in. "Not unless..."

"Jill," Leon snapped. "Barry." He glared at them each in turn. "Would you let the man finish?"

"Leon, we're..."

"We've been planning and plotting and arguing for months now, and what have we accomplished? Let's be honest. Nothing. Less than nothing! For all we know that monster is raping Claire on an hourly basis, and we're sitting around drinking beer and eating potato chips!"

Jill bit off an angry response. She itched to say that judging from the video, Wesker didn't have to rape anyone; it looked like Claire was pretty willing to lie in his arms. She understood, of course. Wesker could be charming when he wanted to be. She'd nursed a bit of a crush on him herself once upon a time, not that she'd ever tell Chris – or anyone, for that matter.

But if she let that slip, she knew she'd be taking her life – not to mention any hopes of a relationship with Chris – into her own hands. "All right, Leon," she said as gently as she could around a mountain of impatience. "We're listening." She glared at the hulking mercenary, who she had yet to address by name. She didn't know his name, and she refused to call him Hunk.

He grinned as though reading her thoughts, and she noted with disgust that he was missing a tooth. He looked like an Olympic hockey player. "Thanks babe," he said, and Barry had to grab Jill's arm as she went for the Glock at her waistband. "So we send Redfield in and he gets Wesker to let the girl go. Shouldn't be any problem – not her he wants. 'Course, we have to consider that she might not want to go."

"What are you talking about?" Leon demanded in a low threatening voice.

"Well, judging from the video he's got her brainwashed pretty good. Gotta consider the possibilities, Kennedy. Take it easy. Either way. Whether she wants to go or not, one of us swoops in and grabs her. We make sure Redfield's out of range and we drop something real heavy on this Wesker guy. Don't care what it is. High grade explosive, anvil, whatever. It ain't gonna kill him, but it'll put him out of comission for a coupla minutes – long enough for us to get the hell out of there. From what I hear he's fast, but not as fast as a jet." He shrugged expansively. "It won't kill him, but that's not what you hired me for."

Anger simmered and boiled over. "That's fantastic," Jill exploded sarcastically. "Absolutely brilliant. Never would have come up with that on our own. There's just one problem, you creepy little drone. We don't have the first clue where he's keeping her! How do you suggest we solve that problem? Start at the North Pole and work our way down?"

"We won't have to." They spun as Chris walked into the room, a slightly dazed expression on his face. His cell phone dangled from one shaking hand. "Work our way down, that is."

"What are you talking about?" Barry demanded.

Chris blinked at the phone and shook his head as though coming out of a trance. "On the phone... it was Claire."

"Claire?" Leon exploded.

"Did she tell you where she was?" demanded Jill.

"What'd she say?" shouted Barry at the same time.

Only Hunk remained silent.

"She didn't tell me where she was exactly. She didn't know. She said it was cold, icy, windy – winter snowstorm. That should limit us, right?"

"To about five hundred places on the globe, from Siberia to Antarctica," Hunk agreed drily. "Where'd she call from?"

"Wesker's phone."

"What kind of phone? Ground line? Cell?"

"Satellite."

Hunk grinned slowly. "You're kidding. He let her get her hands on his sat phone? What a jerk."

Warning bells went off in Jill's head. Something Hunk had said didn't ring true. But before she could follow the thought, the mercenary leaped into action. "Give me that phone, a computer, and twenty minutes. The rest of you get ready to move. We're going after Sarah."

"Claire," Leon muttered as he jogged after Chris.

Jill hesitated another moment, trying to follow her train of thought out of the station. But Barry tugged on her arm, and everyone was moving... She waited a second longer and gave it up in disgust. Whatever she thought of Hunk and his little plan, she had to get moving. She couldn't abandon Chris, not now.

But she wished to hell she remembered what had bothered her about Hunk's words.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

_Something in His Smile_

-

_He put his foot inside the door_

_And gave a crooked smile_

_Something in his eyes_

_Something in his laugh_

_Something in his voice_

_That made my skin crawl off_

_-Switchfoot: Faust, Midas, and Myself_

Claire crept closer to the cave entrance, her heart hammering with every step. The phone had nearly frozen to her fingers. For all she knew she could be at the wrong cave; hell, she could be on the wrong _planet_ and she'd never even know it. Not for the first time she wondered what she was really doing. Trying to escape? Trying to exercise her will even though she knew her efforts were doomed from the start?

_Don't think like that!_ she told herself firmly. You heard Chris. He's coming for you.

But in her heart she no longer believed in Chris the way she had. Of course she still called on him; he was her brother, the only family she had left. But these months with Wesker had taken their toll. She realized she'd come to see him as invincible -- as nearly god-like, god with a small "g": the mythological gods of war and strife, wreaking havoc among their worshipers for no reason other than their own twisted amusement. She was probably giving him too much power in her mind, letting him work on her the way he wanted, twisting her until she was wrapped around his finger. She understood the psychological logic behind all this. She just didn't know how to fight it off.

On the other hand, Wesker had yet to show a single weakness, so maybe her assessment wasn't the result of psychological manipulation after all. Maybe he simply was invincible.

She realized she'd come to a standstill and gave her head a shake. Great. If she was really lucky, she'd freeze to death and spare Chris the trouble of finding her.

She didn't realize she'd reached the cave until she was almost on top of it. The snow blinded her, and she was lucky the faint impression of her tracks in the ground remained to guide her. She gave an involuntary sigh of as she stumbled inside, although the sound came out more like a choking gasp. Immediately she cast her gaze around for Wesker, and her heart soared when she didn't see him. She almost cried with relief. Finally, finally, _finally_ something went right.

She bent beside his neatly arranged backpack, untied the laces, and slid the phone back into place.

_Wait. I didn't close the pack._

The thought struck her at the same time as his fist. She sprawled forward on the ground, rocks skinning her palms, not even a scream escaping her throat. Instead she felt a numb sort of acceptance, even an eagerness for death that appalled her.

_At least you still have the presence of mind to _be_ appalled, Redfield. Be thankful for that._

Oh yeah, she answered herself as she rolled over and stared into his gleaming red stare. Yeah, I'm real thankful for small favours. Just get me out of here and I'll be your slave for life.

Whoever she was talking to, she didn't get an answer.

Wesker advanced on her with no particular menace, but Claire scrambled toward the rear of the cave all the same, pressing her back against the cold, pointed rock. She tipped her head aside, closed her eyes, and waited for him to strike.

It took her several seconds to realize that she wasn't bleeding, broken, or dead. A few seconds later she risked opening her eyes and almost screamed. He was crouched directly in front of her, less than six inches of space between them. She hadn't heard him breathe, move, hadn't felt his heat.

He smiled at her reaction. Reaching out, he took her hand in his and rubbed it gently. "You're cold, Miss Redfield."

"I'm in the middle of an ice storm," she spat, yanking her hand back with no result whatsoever. "What do you expect me to be?"

"Chagrined, at the very least. You didn't really think I'd leave you with my phone unless I intended you to use it?"

She shrugged, suddenly exhausted. "Well, you got what you wanted," she told him glumly. "I called Chris. I assume that _is_ what you were hoping to hear?"

He smiled. "I could have had you call him myself, of course. But it's so much more effective when it's an impassioned plea for help, don't you agree? I'm sure Chris is running around in search of you right now."

She stared at him dully, barely aware of his hands on her chin, her cheek, of the way he stroked her chin. She'd become immune to his touch. "And what will he find when he gets here?"

"Ah. That, of course, is the question that most concerns you." He released her and sank back on his heels, watching her. She regarded him warily, like a caged animal assessing its captor. "And unfortunately, the answer seems to be obvious, doesn't it?"

A stirring of fear in her belly let her know she wasn't ready to die after all, at least not yet. "You're going to kill me."

"That would be the most practical solution. You're a burden to me, Miss Redfield. Especially stranded out here." He nodded toward the cave entrance. "The snowstorm's grown worse, in case you failed to notice. Even with me at your side, you'd freeze to death if you left this cave today. And the fact is, Chris is coming for you whether you're alive or not. He knows where you are and he'll be here... sooner rather than later."

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. Wesker might kill her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of begging for her life. "Well then?" she demanded, pleased with the strength of her voice, a strength she didn't feel. "I guess you'd better get on with it before I cost you any more time."

"Mmm." He touched her cheek with one long, gloved finger. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him, wondering what the hell he was up to now. "Is that what you want?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, dear heart. Do you want me to kill you?"

She stared at him. Almost as an afterthought, she shook free of his touch. "Are you crazy? Of course I don't want to die."

"There are worse things than death," he pointed out reasonably. "According to your dear brother, I've become one of them. And if I wanted to, I could do things to you that would make you beg for death."

_He's trying to scare you_, she cautioned herself.

He was succeeding.

She shrugged, considering how to answer him. At last she settled on honesty. "What am I supposed to say to that? You're toying with me, Wesker, and I'm through being your mouse."

He appeared amused. "Miss Redfield, you'll be whatever I want you to be. But you haven't answered my question." He leaned back and propped his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on his fists. "Let me make it easier for you, since you seem to have such difficulty understanding."

She snorted loudly. "Get to the point." Strangely, her imminent death had renewed her courage rather than otherwise. It was the _waiting_ that was destroying her, the constant anticipation, wondering what he would do next -- and when.

"I'm offering a choice. I can kill you here and now, quickly. You'll barely know you're dying before you're dead. Or..." He let his voice trail off. Claire forced herself to remain impassive as the silence stretched between them. She didn't get too excited. She had a feeling she wouldn't like his alternative.

At last Wesker offered a grudging smile and spoke without a response. She felt a small surge of victory. "Or, I can let you live -- for now. But if I do, Miss Redfield, I make no promises for the future. I may still kill you at some later point, and I may not make that death easy. I may hurt you, treat you viciously, cruelly. Or..." He shrugged. "I may not. It's difficult to read my state of mind, even for me. I don't usually try. Unlike most of polite society, I'm under no obligation to curb my instincts, and I prefer to give them free range." His lips curled into a dark, sneering grin. "Consider before you answer, dear heart."

Oh, she was considering. She was considering the best way to get her hands around his throat and squeeze the life right out of him. Who the hell did he think he was, offering her a choice like that? Her fingers twitched with the urge to slap him.

Wesker may have been under no obligation to curb his instincts, but Claire certainly was. She forced herself under control and gave the answer she knew he'd expected. "I want to live, of course. As you've pointed out yourself, we're all animals at heart -- which means you're not offering a choice at all. Survival instinct, Wesker."

She later realized that the only reason she'd seen him swing was because he'd allowed it. His fist flew at her out of nowhere, and she cried out, instinctively flattening herself against the wall.

The blow never came.

After a moment she risked prying an eye open to find him watching her with easy amusement. "Are you certain, Miss Redfield? Worse may be in store for you than..."

"Oh, shut up," she exploded furiously. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! If you have the right to offer me a choice like that I at least have the right to choose the way I want to. Stop pestering me about it and get on with whatever you're planning to do."

To her surprise, he smiled and rose gracefully to his feet, crossing to the cave's entrance and leaning against it, silhouetted against the whirl of white outside. "As of this moment, my only plan is to wait for this storm to abate enough that I can take you through it. Until then, we'll wait it out here."

Which meant she'd be spending the next twenty four hours at least in a cramped, cold, dingy cave. With Wesker.

He was right. There were worse things than death after all.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

The day passed even more slowly than she'd feared. Between the horrible, deathly cold and the horrible, deathly company, she didn't think it would ever end. A glance at the satellite phone had confirmed that it was February 17th at 8:37 AM local time – wherever "local" was. She could have sworn it was midnight before she finally found the courage to ask Wesker for the time. It took her hours to work up the strength to ask the simple question, and after all that he only glanced at his watch and told her it was 11:00.

"At night?" she asked hopefully.

He glanced at the vivid daylight, then at her. She shrugged. "I thought maybe we were far north enough for twenty four hour daylight."

"That would be in the summer, dear heart," he replied dryly. "Not in the dead of winter."

"And how am I supposed to know the season?"

"The snowstorm might have been a clue. Clearly, I overestimated your intelligence."

She turned away in disgust. She could have said something else – something about how months of psychological torture had the effect of confusing you – but she didn't want to prolong the conversation.

February 17th…. Almost four months, then, since he'd taken her captive. Almost a third of a year, a huge chunk of her life – which, she reminded herself, might not last all that much longer. Four whole months spent doing nothing but drawing pictures, staring at the wall, sleeping, crying. She hadn't been prepared for that long. She'd known, of course, that she'd been a captive for a lot more than a few days, but she'd been thinking in weeks, not months.

No wonder Chris sounded so shocked, so relieved to hear from her. She hadn't thought to ask after Leon. Had he seen Wesker's little home movie? Surely Chris would never have been cruel enough to show it to him…. But on the other hand, Wesker might have sent Leon a copy himself. _He_ was certainly cruel enough to do it.

"You must have been the kind of kid who really liked burning ants with magnifying glasses, huh?" She heard herself say suddenly.

His reply was tinged with amusement. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "You like to watch suffering. I figured it started off small, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you jumped straight to people. We had a kid like you in my elementary school." She glanced over her shoulder but his face was unreadable in the half-light, his eyes hidden behind his glasses. "When he was little he liked to learn secrets about people and throw them in their faces. By the time he was eight, he'd advanced to standing on people's throats until they turned blue." She flashed him a smile. "He was stabbed in a gang fight when he was fifteen. No one cared. I guess that's how it'll be with you, too."

"I'll be stabbed in a gang fight?"

"No." She tossed her head, shivering as the movement exposed her throat. "No one will care when you die."

"They'll care," he said slowly, rising to his feet and advancing on her. Terrified she'd gone too far, Claire shrank into the corner. To her surprise, however, he only sat down beside her. She wanted to push him away, but what good would it do? Besides, his solid form blocked the draft from the cave entrance, and in spite of everything his body was warm. She had to resist an impulse to snuggle closer. "They'll care very much. They'll throw parades to celebrate, Miss Redfield. But who says I'm planning to die?"

Curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at him, taking in his sharp jaw, angular nose. "You really think you're immortal?"

"I've considered the possibility. Death comes when one's body runs down. Mine has given no indication that it will." He shrugged. "Umbrella's creatures, by and large, are already dead. The so-called 'zombies' are in fact precisely that: re-animated corpses. Not the kind of immortality one would wish, but a form of it nonetheless."

"Only the body. They don't have a mind, a soul."

"A soul." He laughed harshly. "Of course you would believe in such a concept. Miss Redfield, I have been present at many deaths. Many of them I've caused myself, and I've never seen any indication of life beyond the grave. When people die, they die – usually trembling, crying, and making general fools of themselves."

She shrugged. "I'm not going to get into a theological debate with you. I'm sure you have all sorts of eloquent speeches about existentialism and the nothingness of being, and I'm sure that if you locked me up for another few months you could even twist me into believing them."

"You are, are you?"

"I give credit where it's due. You're very proficient at psychological manipulation. You'd make an excellent interrogator."

"I did." The smile on his face gave her no clue as to whether he was serious. "I'm interested in this conversation, Miss Redfield. I suspect you've reached the point where you're being perfectly honest with me. That's very rare."

"Maybe in your life."

"As opposed to the open and honest relationship you have with your brother?"

She bit off her response. He'd backed her into a corner and she knew it. "You're right. Chris doesn't tell me everything and I don't tell him everything. But at least when we lie it's with intent of protecting each other."

"So the ends justify the means." He flashed her a smile. "What if I were to say that my eventual intent is for the betterment of all mankind, the elimination of disease, war, and misery? Would that make me acceptable to you?"

She sighed heavily and shook her head. "Like I said, I can't argue with you. You talk circles around me. But I know what's right in _here_." She laid a gloved hand over her heart and glared at him fiercely. "And no matter how you confuse me, no matter how you manipulate me, you won't be able to change that."

"It would be an intriguing challenge, had we the time to pursue it." He reached around to his pack and withdrew a protein bar and a bottle of water, extending them to her. She made a face and shook her head, but he pressed them on her. "I have no intentions of carrying you through the snowstorm, Miss Redfield. You'll need your strength."

She still hesitated, but she had no doubt he'd force them on her if she resisted. So she took the protein bar, unwrapped it, and made herself chew and swallow. It was like eating a rubber band. "What's going to happen when my brother finds us?" she found herself asking. Her voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from far away.

"I'll kill him."

She shivered, but let it pass. "And then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What will you do next?"

"With you?"

"With me, with…." She spread her hands. "Everything. You've put so much into destroying Chris; what will you do once you've succeeded?"

"You think my life will be empty without my nemesis?" He chuckled. "You really are an intriguing woman, Claire. You have the most unique ideas." When she didn't rise to the bait, he became thoughtful. "With Chris out of the way, my key opposition will be removed. His cronies will remain, of course, but none of them are as personally invested. I'll proceed with my plan. If I find myself in need of a nemesis, I'll go after the remaining STARS. As for you… I haven't decided yet."

"What are my options?" She couldn't believe she was discussing this so calmly, how he would dispose of her once he'd murdered her brother. But at this point, what was the use of panicking?

"I could kill you, of course. Even there I'd have decisions – slow and agonizing? Quick and painless? Or something in between." He stretched as though they were discussing the weather. "Or I could let you go. Set you free to brood on your brother's death until you decided to hunt me down for revenge… which would put me back at square one. Then again, given time, I could probably convince you to work for me." She snorted out loud, and he arched an eyebrow. "You doubt me, dear heart? As you've already pointed out, psychological manipulation is a powerful tool. If you hadn't stumbled across my little secret, I probably could have convinced you right now."

She shook her head, but couldn't get rid of the nagging doubt that he may be right. "What time is it?" she asked, mainly for a change of subject.

Wesker glanced at his watch. "Eleven twenty three."

It was going to be a long day.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

_Talking All the Time_

_Once again, Jill Valentine is getting ready for a mission. She doesn't know where they're going because he won't tell her; he hasn't, to the best of her knowledge, told any of them. But they're getting ready all the same. It's a mark of how much they trust this man. They'll follow him without knowing what they're doing. They'd do it for any of the team, of course -- just a month ago they actively involved themselves, against direct orders, in a kidnapping involving one of Barry's nieces. As Wesker had said, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission -- but, he'd added, make sure you don't try it with me._

_Why not, Captain?_

_He hadn't answered, not then, but she knew the answer now. Permission was in his power to give. Forgiveness... Well, Wesker didn't forgive._

_She's alone in the office, or rather, she's alone with Wesker. It's like being alone. He's involved in what he's doing, his head bent over the computer, chewing absently on his lower lip the way he does when he concentrates. She wants so much to ask him what's going on, to offer her comfort, her support. _

_What she wants, she realizes in a moment of stark honesty, is to climb into his lap._

_She's not in love with Wesker. If part of her is falling in love, it's moving steadily toward her obnoxious, arrogant partner, Chris Redfield. But she's _attracted_ to Wesker in a way she isn't to Chris. Maybe it's the danger. White-knight syndrome, perhaps. He's saved her ass more times than she can count, professionally and physically. He's chewed her out plenty of times too, and maybe that has something to do with it. _

_Because let's face it, she thinks: I'm attracted to _power

_And as much as she wants to talk to him, to get him to open up and accept her support, she realizes that her attraction would fade if he did. Wesker is untouchable. Wanting him is like wanting a movie star: safe, harmless, fun. Nothing can ever come of it. Why is she so sure this is the case? It's not like Wesker's playing for the other team; she's seen him with women -- always from a distance, by accident, but she's seen him just the same. And she's heard gossip from the women downstairs, on the rare occasions she gets there for her coffee break. Wesker's not stupid enough to mess with anyone from the RPD, but well, it's a small city. News travels fast._

_But she knows he'll never touch her._

_He glances up and catches her staring. "Something I can do for you, Miss Valentine?" he asks as red suffuses her cheeks._

_"No, sir!" Her voice cracks like a child's and she curses herself roundly. "I'm sorry, sir; I was thinking about something else."_

_"We're leaving in ten minutes, Jill. I suggest you keep your mind on the mission."_

_"Sir, with all due respect: what _is_ the mission?"_

_He smiles slightly. "You'll know once we get there."_

_"Then how am I supposed to keep my mind on it?" She catches the raised eyebrow and hastily adds "Sir!" in hopes of making up for the near-sarcasm in her question._

_"If you have to ask me that, you're not the officer I expect you to be and you can withdraw yourself from this mission."_

_Chastised, she lowers her head, wishing she could take back the entire conversation. Quickly she sets about checking her weaponry, making sure everything is in place._

_But he's not satisfied. "Jill?"_

_"Sir?"_

_"Would you like to withdraw?"_

_She swallows hard, the sharp ache of disappointing him like a knife in her belly. "No, sir."_

_He stares at her, and for a moment she wonders if that isn't enough. Wesker's been acting strangely lately, nothing she can put her finger on, just... overly irritable, although if she said that to the girls downstairs they'd laugh in her face. The entire police station walked on eggshells for fear of arousing Wesker's anger. But the STARS were different. They were his team. They knew better than to piss him off, and they knew exactly how far they could push him. _

_Or at least they _had_. Right now she thinks she may have pushed too far. A month ago Wesker wouldn't have batted an eyelash at her stupid comment. Now his jaw is set in anger. Something about this mission is getting to him, she realizes. And both as his subordinate and his friend (friends? Are they _friends?_) the best thing she can do is calm him down. "I'm sorry, sir," she says, keeping her voice calm and soothing. It's the same voice she uses when Chris and Barry start arguing about guns, girls, and UFOs -- their main topics of dissent. "It's pre-mission tension. I apologize for any disrespect. You know we trust you. Whatever's in store for us, we'll be more than ready."_

_Apparently satisfied he inclines his head. A slight smile touches his lips as he returns to his work. "If STARS doesn't work out for you, you have a career as a politician, Jill."_

_She grins in spite of herself. Wesker always recognizes her bullshit when he hears it. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."_

_"You should." His good humor restored, he keeps up the conversation. "Knowing how to manipulate people is the most important skill anyone can ever know."_

_Warning bells rocket through her skull._

"Will you knock it the hell off?" she hollered, clamping her hands over her ears as she sat straight up and glared at Chris, who was standing over her with a cowbell and a stupid grin.

"Time to get up, Valentine." He flopped on the bed next to her, ignoring her attempts to shove him aside. Rolling half-over her, he braced himself on his forearms and beamed. "For better or for worse, we're leaving in half an hour. You wouldn't want to sleep through the excitement, would you?"

"I was hoping you would," she informed him sourly as she pushed him aside. Bending forward, she caught her toes and pulled, straightening her back, stretching her stiffness away. "I was dreaming about Wesker."

Chris' smile vanished in an instant. "Yeah? Go figure. Me too."

"I was remembering how fond he was of manipulation."

"I was imagining how nice it would be to watch him die."

"Be serious, Redfield. I think we need to consider the possibility that..."

He shot to his feet and threw his hands in the air. "Damn it, Jill! Why do you have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"_Talk_ all the time!" he bellowed, then closed his eyes as he realized how ridiculous he sounded. "This is the only idea I can come up with," he said more quietly, but she would have preferred the shouting: at least there was emotion in his voice then. "It's my _last_ idea; do you get that, Jill? If this fails I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is that I can't live another day, another _minute_, knowing my sister's in the grip of that maniac and I haven't done anything to stop him!"

The worst part was, she did understand. She didn't have any suggestions either, although she hesitated to call Hunk an "idea". He was more like a disaster. "I just think we should have a back-up plan," she said in her best calm voice. The memory of her dream seemed to mock her from her subconscious. "Just in case Hunk's plan fails. Come on, Chris -- when we were in STARS we _always_ had a Plan B."

This finally drew a grin from him. "Yeah, right. If I remember correctly, 'plan B' was mostly code for 'shoot everything that moves until it dies.'"

She slid to her feet, pretending not to notice his gaze tracking her as she threw the curtains open. Hot sun bathed her naked arms and legs, the skimpy tank top and short set letting heat and light through to her skin. Still, goose bumps rose along her flesh. From Chris watching her? Or the knowledge they were almost certainly walking into a trap? "Just promise me that if we wind up with a SNAFU on our hands, you'll listen if I come up with an idea."

"Hey." He came up behind her and hugged her tightly to his chest. She wanted to resist -- with him fully clothed and her half-naked, hair dishevelled, still reeling from her dream, she felt ridiculously vulnerable. But his chest was strong and hard behind her, and his arms locked her in place. She gave into the urge to sink her head onto his shoulder. "Of course I'll listen. You're the genius who saved us last time."

"Yeah, and almost killed your sister in the process." She didn't know why she said that -- to bait him? To see just how much he loved her?

But although his arms tightened, his voice remained calm. "You didn't put Claire in danger, Valentine. _Claire _put Claire in danger, just like she always does." He squeezed her and gave her a gentle rock back and forth. "I'm thinking of investing in a house with a dungeon in the basement once I get her back."

"Or a nice castle with a tall tower," she agreed, and they laughed softly. For a moment she relaxed, letting herself enjoy the sensation of togetherness. She and Chris had always been extra close before a mission. Well, this was the mission to end them all.

And they didn't have time to mark the occasion properly. Turning in his arms, she planted a soft kiss on his lips. "I have to get dressed. I don't think Wesker will be too impressed if I charge him in my pyjamas."

"I don't know." He arched an appreciative brow. "Might stop me in my tracks."

"You're such a jerk." She shoved him aside, but laughed to show she didn't mind. "I'll meet you downstairs. Save me some coffee, okay?"

He snorted over his shoulder. "In your dreams, Valentine."

If only, she thought with a grin.

-----

To her surprise, the only person in the kitchen when she made her appearance ten minutes later was Leon. He glanced at her with red-rimmed eyes. Uh oh, Jill thought to herself. This didn't bode well. "Morning, Kennedy."

He nodded in response, and Jill decided frank honesty was the only way to go. She snagged the dredges of coffee from the pot, added a generous spoonful of sugar, and sank into the seat across from him. "You been drinking?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "No. Not drinking." He laughed harshly. "Not sleeping either, though. You know Hunk's plan is bullshit, don't you?"

Yeah, she did, but she didn't think he knew it. "Chris thinks..."

"Chris wants Claire back." He laughed harshly. "So do I, damn it -- but what if we ruin our chances by moving too soon? If Wesker kills us, who's left to go after Claire?"

"It's a good question," she admitted, taking a gulp of coffee. Wincing at the taste, she went back for another spoonful of sugar. "But we're locked in now. We promised." She added two for good measure and reclaimed her seat. "I'll tell you what I've been telling myself, Leon: we go in, we do it Hunk's way, and when that fails we make sure we're ready to adapt."

He grinned in spite of himself. "And what does that mean, oh mighty genius of the house of Chris?"

"You really _haven't _been sleeping."

"Tell me about it."

"It means," she said, draining the coffee in a gulp and trying not to gag, "that we go in there prepared for every eventuality." She let a sweet smile touch her lips. "Right now I have a Glock in my back waistband, a knife strapped to either ankle, a third attached to a spring up my sleeve, and a set of lockpicks in my ponytail. Before I get off that plane I also intend to be carrying everything from grenades to stun guns. I'm leaving _nothing_ to chance, Leon. And nothing to Hunk, which is pretty much the same thing. If you're smart, you'll do the same."

He rubbed his hand over his eyes and nodded. "It's a good call. I'll see what I can dig up." He shoved himself to his feet and hesitated. "And uh, Jill? Thanks. For everything."

"Don't mention it." She hesitated, wondering if _she _should mention what came to mind -- but after all, they needed Leon alert and ready. "Kennedy, if you need anything, there's a package of caffeine pills in the medicine cabinet in my bedroom. Not that I'm telling you to use them or anything, but I don't exactly count them either. You know?"

He nodded and left without a word. Closing her eyes, Jill wondered if she'd just advised a younger soldier to take the equivalent of performance enhancing drugs. _Don't be an idiot_, she seethed to herself. They're _caffeine pills_. Half the world uses them. _I've_used them, and for all his high and mighty attitudes so has Chris. Don't worry about it.

But it just felt like another thing that had gone wrong with her day.

And it wasn't even nine AM.


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Note:__ I don't usually do these, but I felt I should explain that the reason updates have been so sparse is because I've been hard at work on a novel of my own. If you're curious you can check my website and look under __Paper Masks__, which is the title -- the first chapter is posted online. Anyway, it's been kind of consuming me, so I apologize if I've kept you waiting. Let me assure you that I __will__ finish any story I start. It might take a while, but I promise not to leave you hanging! Having said that, thanks for all your wonderful reviews, and let's get on with it!_

Chapter Twenty Five

_Dominance_

__It _was_ a long day.

Fortunately, Wesker shut up after an hour or two, but a couple hours of silence almost had Claire begging him to start in again. Actually it wasn't silent. Silence, she could have dealt with. It was the damn bloody _wind_, the constant roar and howl. Every time she started to drift off, the wind jerked her awake, heart in her throat, fumbling for a weapon. It sounded too much like Umbrella.

And every time she caught Wesker watching her. Sometimes he smirked, sometimes shook his head. She didn't care about any of that. But every now and then she found him with a thoughtful, calculating expression etched across his face, and that worried her. What was he up to now?

She resisted the urge to cry, but it didn't mater because she cried in her sleep. She knew it when she woke with sore eyes, damp hair, her cheeks broken and peeling. Wesker didn't say a word. She didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

He forced more food and water on her. She ate mechanically, beginning to wish she'd told him to kill her when he'd offered the choice. No doubt remained in her mind that Wesker would kill Chris. Whatever she'd once thought of her brother, he wasn't Superman. Neither was Wesker, of course. No, she thought Wesker might have given even Clark Kent a run for his money.

Chris would die, and it was _all her fault_.

_Her fault:_ chasing him down in Antarctica, bringing herself to Wesker's attention.

_Her fault: _Running to meet Wesker equipped with a single gun -- _one gun!_ What had she been thinking?

_Her fault:_ Letting Wesker manipulate and frighten her to the point where he could use her to infuriate Chris even further.

_Her fault:_ Placing that damn phone call.

And that's what she was really mad about. She realized now, too late, what she should have done: coldly informed her brother that she was happy with Wesker and that she'd kill him if she ever saw him again. It would break his heart, and hers -- but he'd _live_, damn it.

And what about Leon? Her heart sank at the thought. She'd never been sure where she stood with him. Now, because of her, he'd been transformed into... well, whatever. He'd seen her in Wesker's arms -- probably. And then there was Ada.

Oh, God. She dropped her head to her arms and gave herself freedom to cry as she pleased. What did she care? She had no pride to salvage, no weaknesses she hadn't revealed. She was pathetic.

Long after she'd thought she could bear, she continued to sob into her folded arms. A sick kind of pleasure emerged as her face froze, her eyes burned. She wondered if she could make herself die from too many tears.

But before she had the chance, she felt _him_ beside her. "Leave me alone," she choked.

"There, dear heart." He sank gracefully to the ground and shoved another bottle of water into her hands. "You'll dehydrate yourself."

"What do you care?"

"I told you: it's all about convenience for me."

She shivered in spite of herself: the temperature was dropping steadily. So, finally, was the sun. Darkness and cold seeped into the cave, edging past Wesker's fire. "Go to hell," she whispered, tossing the water aside.

He caught it before it hit the ground and extended it to her again. "I'm not a patient man, Claire. I've treated you with remarkable restraint thus far. Don't push me."

More threats. She almost refused again, but the indignity of being forced to drink outweighed the pleasure of scorning his threat. She drained the entire bottle in a single swallow, even though her stomach cramped and her lungs burned. The second she finished, she promptly threw it up again.

"Lovely." Wesker hauled her across him, shoving her to the ground on his left. He edged over, distancing them from the pool of vomit -- although really it was only water. She'd taken more than she could handle, that's all.

It seemed to be a habit of hers.

Of course he went for another bottle -- she was half-surprised he didn't make her recycle what she'd already drank, and figured the thought didn't occur to him. This time he wouldn't let her touch the bottle, though. He insisted on holding it while she drank, monitoring her sips like she was a child. The further humiliation brought burning tears to her recently dried eyes, but this time she didn't let them fall. She'd already cried for longer than she thought possible; if she started again, she didn't think she'd stop.

He made her feel like a recalcitrant child. She hated him with a weary disinterest. Real hate, the kind that burned in your chest, took too much energy, too much emotion. Claire had exhausted her reserves of both.

Watching her, he must have seen her thoughts reflected in her eyes. "Remember what I told you before, Miss Redfield. There's no such thing as rock bottom: you can _always_ be brought lower."

"Thanks for the lesson," she muttered. Speaking made her want to vomit all over again. She prayed he wouldn't force food on her; there was no way she'd keep it down. She glanced at his solid bulk on her right. "Go away."

"I beg your pardon?"

She swallowed. "Please. Please leave me alone."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "No, I think not. The mood you're in, there's no telling what you'll do."

She hated how his arm brushed hers. She hated how she depended on him for everything, like a pet. "I won't do anything, I promise." In spite of her resolve, tears slid down her already chapped face. "Please, please, _please_ go away. I can't take it anymore, I can't..."

"Shh." Perversely -- she was, after all, begging him to leave -- he caught her in his arms and drew her into his lap.

Claire wanted to struggle, but exhaustion overwhelmed her. Besides, what was the point? "Why are you doing this?"

"You know the answer."

"Not that. This. Staying with me. Keeping me alive. You said it yourself: you have no use for me now that I've baited your trap."

"Ah, but there are always things one fails to plan for. I may need to set another trap in a hurry."

She tilted her head and looked him in the eye, or as close as she could manage. In the cave's increasing darkness, the gleam behind his sunglasses was becoming evident. "I've changed my mind."

"I'm sorry?"

"I want you to kill me now. Don't make me watch this. Let me die."

His arms tightened around her. "I told you at the time, Miss Redfield: it was a one-time offer. I gave you the chance to meet your demise on your own terms, and you refused it. Your life is mine now, and I'll do with it as I choose."

She wanted to cry. She wanted to shout and scream and rail against him, but it was all _pointless_; nothing she did mattered. She only stayed limp in his arms, staring blankly at the lengthening shadows.

He gave her a gentle shake. "Don't check out on me, Claire. I need you for a while longer."

"Is that why you're holding me? You think it'll what, comfort me? Encourage me?"

"Hardly." He laughed softly. "There's actually a very simple explanation: I don't want you to freeze to death during the night."

"Corpses don't give off much warmth."

"You do have a way with words, dear heart. I quite enjoy you. I may even miss you when you're gone; I've become... _accustomed_ to your presence."

She shuddered. But in spite of what she'd said, he did give off heat -- not as much, she was sure, as a mortal man, but enough to draw her close as the night-time cold crept in. She despised herself for pressing against him but she couldn't resist.

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "I know. You hate me."

"No. I hate _me_."

"Whatever for?"

He sounded genuinely surprised, and she tried to pull back to look at him. He wouldn't let her. "Are you kidding?"

"You're a foolish young woman, Claire, but it's not worth hating yourself. You know you're likely to die in the near future. I suggest you make peace."

"You're a bastard."

"Hardly that."

She tried once more to twist free, but he anticipated her move and kept her locked in place. Heaving a sigh, she gave up and sagged against him. She might as well try to sleep. At least then she could forget about her whole wretched situation.

But she'd forgotten that, for a time at least, she'd found Wesker attractive. Now, wrapped in his arms, held on his lap, surrounded by his warmth, she found those same feelings stirring. _What the hell is wrong with you?_ she screamed at herself. This man is a monster at best! You're sitting here now because he _forced_ you! He's planning to kill everyone you love and then you! How can you possibly be attracted to him?

Stockholme Syndrome, a voice at the back of her brain informed her. She told it to shut the hell up. That might be fine for some people but she was Claire Redfield and Claire Redfield didn't get Stockholme Syndrome, damn it, especially not with Albert Wesker.

Her exhausted mind was flip-flopping so fast she could barely keep up with it. Hovering on a precipice, she teetered between curling into his neck and trying to plunge her fingers into his eyes. But then all at once, he made the decision for her. His hand curled in her hair and drew her, gently but firmly, onto his shoulder. She froze as his fingers brushed her neck. "Sleep, dear heart," he commanded quietly. "Give yourself a night of peace."

"I don't understand you," she whispered, accepting his dominance because it cost too much effort to fight.

"No," he agreed, holding her close. "Believe it or not, that's for the best."

"But why?"

His hand brushed her hair again. A chill raced down her spine, and her eyes drifted close of their own volition. "Sleep," he repeated, and whether because she'd exhausted herself or because she'd become accustomed to obeying his orders, she did.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

Judging from Leon's jittery demeanor and shaking hands, he'd not only found her stash of caffeine pills but decimated a month's supply. Jill watched him stalk the length of the plane, spewing sarcastic comments and smart-ass remarks. Hunk laughed uproariously, like a drunk at a circus. Barry periodically tried to soothe the younger man, with limited success, and Chris sat staring out the window, a stony expression on his face. Two men Jill didn't know sat up front, piloting Hunk's plane. They were Hunk's men. This was Hunk's jet and Hunk's plan. Jill hated all four by association.

She glared at the hulking man across the aisle and wished she could just shoot him already. The obnoxious son of a bitch was acting like they'd already won, joking and jovial, planning victory drinks and celebrations. She had a fleeting thought of how Wesker would have responded to such an attitude. Actually, Wesker would never have responded to such an attitude, because no one who acted that way would get near Wesker's team.

And if they were following Wesker's rejects, well…. Excuse her if she didn't think it was the best plan she'd ever heard.

Chris twitched suddenly. Jill cast him a worried look, but he remained sunk against the window, chin resting on his fist. She didn't think she'd ever been so worried about him, not even when they'd first encountered Wesker's deadly scheme.

One way or another, this would end today. The small arsenal strapped to Jill's body said it would end her way. The grinning moron across the aisle said otherwise.

What was a girl to do?

-----

Leon wondered if he hadn't maybe overdone the pep pills after all. The package said take 1 –2, the Leon side of his brain (the one that automatically doubled the dosage) said take 4 or 5, and the part of his brain that lamented his new enhanced constitution urged him to shake a fistful down his throat.

His vision blurred, but he shook it off. Whatever. He didn't need to be particularly together, not for Hunk's strategy of shoot anything that moves and isn't Claire. Leon seriously hoped everyone else got the second half of that. He didn't have any doubts about the STARS, but Hunk's men didn't look all that bright. Come to think of it, _Hunk_ didn't look all that bright. When Chris first came to him with this plan he'd been on board simply because it was a plan, and at the time that had seemed enough. Of course he'd just seen a video of the woman he….

_You what, Leon? Love?_ He didn't know. Did she love him? Did he love Ada? It was a complicated world, that much was certain.

Sometimes when he thought about the things that had happened over the last few years, how far he'd come – and how far he'd sunk – he felt like _complicated_ was the understatement of the century. Leon Kennedy was dead. He didn't know yet who'd sprung up in his place, but Wesker's experiments certainly had something to do with him. God, if you'd told him five years ago that he'd be chasing zombies, a genetically enhanced creature….

His brain shut down and he entered battle mode. Angst wasn't a particularly useful weapon, and he had to keep that in mind if he hoped to rescue Claire. And whatever he felt about her, he had full intentions of getting her out of Wesker's grasp. Sleazy little half-human freak. Who'd he think he was, anyhow?

An answer to that taunted him, hovering just out of reach; he shoved it aside. He didn't think he wanted to know.

-----

Chris Redfield stared at the farms patterning below, wishing he had a piece of gum. Or a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in what, twenty years now? Didn't matter. Hell, a toothpick would do fine. He just needed something to do with his teeth other than grind them together. Half of him wanted to bite his nails, but he didn't think that would look too many or impressive to Jill. Or to him, come to think of it.

He tensed his arms, feeling the muscles flex. _You're strong,_ he reminded himself. _You're gonna get in there, get Claire, and get out. And then kill her yourself. But get her out alive first._

Priorities, dude. He glanced at his face, dimly reflected in the window, and forced a sickening grin.

-----

Barry Burton slumped in the chair, arms crossed over his substantial chest. He was sulking. Had been for a while now, not that anyone seemed to know or care.

Started this morning. Turned out his wife and kids were less than happy to see him run off on yet another _pro bono_ mission while they sat at home. Especially now the youngest had measles. He'd all but ran from the house, wincing at the ringing in his ears – not the goodbye he wanted if today turned out to be his last.

He didn't know what the hell was wrong with Leon. He didn't seem to be drunk, but Barry almost wished he was; that, he would have known how to deal with. Mission jitters? You had to be kidding.

Chris and Jill? Teenage lovebirds on a rescue mission. Fan-frigging-tastic.

And then there was Hunk. He didn't want to get started on Hunk. What kind of name was Hunk, anyway? His fingers itched to get around that bugger's throat and start squeezing.

He had plan B strapped to his back, a pair of shiny magnum revolvers that made him feel better just by being there. He only hoped that when things went sour, he got a chance to use them before Wesker dissolved them all into mincemeat.

Barry'd known about Wesker's betrayal for nearly a week before the mansion incident. He still remembered the sick feeling in his chest, knowing what Wesker planned to do…. But not that he intended to kill the STARS! Observe their combat against the creatures, sure, but if he'd known Wesker actually wanted them to _die…._

Who was he kidding? He couldn't excuse his actions and he didn't dare try. All he could do was try to make up for them, day in, day out, and if his wife and family didn't get that they didn't get it. He had to do his best all the same.

Still, he wished to hell Leon would shut up for three minutes. He could use the time to think.

-----

Hunk grinned, gloating. What a bunch of saps. He'd show them how things were supposed to be done.

A burst of static signaled the radio as the pilot spotted his target.

Oh yeah. Things were going great.

Strapping himself in, Hunk got ready for the landing.

Time to take things home.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

It was all coming to a head.

The plane's shadow passed overhead, dimly visible even through the swirling snow and thick clouds. Claire saw it with a sinking heart. She clutched Wesker's arm to keep from falling.

He chuckled; clearly, he'd seen it too. "Come," he directed, guiding her along. Claire followed blindly. A day of trekking through blinding snow and sleet had almost obliterated her, her will to live. She stumbled along, shielding her face in her arm -- it wasn't like it obscured her vision because she didn't have any left to obscure. As usual she was completely dependent on Wesker.

Her throat burned. So did her eyes, her ears, her toes, her fingers, and her nostrils froze with each breath. It had been this way for hours, or maybe days. She'd lost all track of time. Her world centered on Wesker, his strength guiding her through the storm.

_Not out of kindness_, she reminded herself yet again. She couldn't make that mistake, not again. They were in this situation because of her naivety -- first in thinking she could take Wesker on by herself, second in going back to save him. _Why_ had she done that? Why hadn't she just let him die and saved them all the trouble?

Wesker tugged on her arm as he changed direction. She almost tripped but managed to right herself; if she went down she didn't think she'd get up, and she wasn't at all sure Wesker wouldn't leave her lying on the ground. Of course, another few hours in this snow and she might not care.

Something changed. It took her a moment to notice. Wesker released her and she stood stock still, blinking, trying to adapt to the change.

It was _warmth_.

She collapsed to her knees, her throat closing at the sudden change, pawing at the layers of clothing around her face. Tears streamed from her eyes as her lashes melted. When her frozen hands hit the ground, they found pavement instead of snow. Found but didn't feel; she stared at them, numb and detached.

A moment later Wesker hauled her to her feet again. She protested but he gave her a rough shake. "I can't have you losing limbs, Miss Redfield."

"What does it matter," she managed to croak, "if you're planning to kill me anyway?"

"Now, dear heart, I told you I hadn't decided that matter yet." He stripped her layers with ruthless efficiency until she stood in her jeans and sweater. Her body felt light and buoyant without the encumberance.

"Come," he ordered, leading her through what she now recognized as a large hangar similar to the one the creatures had invaded before they trekked through the storm. At the far end he opened a door and led her into yet another Umbrella corridor. "Area B," he said in answer to her unasked question. "A short drive by the destroyed vehicle. Rather a longer walk."

"Bastard," she choked.

He smiled grimly. "If you hate me now, Miss Redfield, wait until I've saved your extremities." Before she had time to puzzle over that latest threat, he guided her into a lab and lifted her onto an examining table. Too tired to resist, she lay passively on the tabletop and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't help glancing to her left, half-expecting to see Leon lying there. Leon... how long since she'd thought of him? Wesker had eroded her life. She barely believed in an outside anymore.

Wesker returned and made her sit up. "This will hurt," he said, and without warning plunged her hands into a tub of icy water. Pain seared through her and she screamed, writhing to be free, but it was like struggling against iron chains. Wesker's grip on her wrists kept her steady and still. She tried jerking her knee around to knock the bowl to the floor, but he blocked her easily. "Now, dear heart. If you don't calm down you'll only make things difficult on yourself."

She forced herself to stop fighting, closing her eyes against a bitter flood of tears. She trembled so hard she could barely breathe. "Can I let go of you?" he demanded.

"Yes," she sobbed. It took everything in her to remain still when he released her wrists, but anything was better than enduring his presence, his touch.

But to her surprise he reached into the bowl, massaging her burning flesh. "Believe it or not, it's a good thing you feel such pain," he soothed. "It means you won't lose your fingers."

"Ice..." she gasped. She could barely feel his fingers on hers.

"Yes, well, if we warm you too quickly, it will damage the skin even further. And if you hope to work for me, you'll need all limbs fully operational."

"Never work for you," she whispered, closing her eyes against his presence.

"We'll see, Miss Redfield. Can you move your toes?"

She experimented and nodded woodenly. "They hurt."

"Another good sign."

"I bet."

"Well, you've recovered sufficiently to make sarcastic comments." He turned away and poured another bowl of water into the tub. The water warmed fractionally.

A flashing red light caught her attention. She bit her lip, not wanting to draw his attention to it, but he smiled as he chafed her hands gently between his. "Yes. Your brother has breached the perimeter. Enjoyable though our time together is, I'll have to cut it short. I can spare you another few minutes at most."

She closed her eyes, surrendering to his ministrations. "Chris will kill you."

"I think not." He warmed the water further. "Once I've dispatched your friends, I'll return and we can discuss your future... or lack thereof."

He made it sound like a job interview. Her thawed brow knit together in fury. "Go to hell, Wesker."

He slapped her, taking her breath away even though the blow hadn't been overly hard. "Careful, Miss Redfield. Never forget what I am."

"How could I?" she demanded bitterly.

Before she could react, he forced her to the table and strapped her down. Panic struck and she struggled, but a hand on her chest forced her still. "You won't escape, Claire. I suggest you rest and recover. This shouldn't take long; I'll be back shortly."

"No." She resumed her struggle the second he stepped away. "Wesker, you son of a bitch, don't you dare touch my brother! Don't you dare!"

With a slight smile he vanished from her sight, leaving her writhing in her bonds, desperate and helpless and hurt and worn. "Chris," she sobbed, falling against the bed in defeat. "Chris!"

Someone was going to die, and she was helpless to do anything about it.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

Jill had such a bad feeling. She'd learned to obey those feelings under Wesker's tutelage, oddly enough. Police training didn't say much about gut feelings and instincts (it casually acknowledged their existence, but stressed going by-the-book and obeying the eternal law of _cover your ass_ instead). Wesker's training, on the other hand, put as much emphasis on instinct as it did on hand-to-hand combat. A good cop, he'd once told her, is 90 instinct and 10 skill.

Not that Wesker had turned out to be a _good_ cop per se, but nevertheless.

And 90 of Jill's instinct was telling her to get the hell out while she still could.

She supposed Chris' instincts must have been swallowed by fear and worry. She could understand that. Barry's nerves were clearly jumping; you only had to look in his eyes. Leon himself was jumping, but Jill was getting used to that.

She was worried about Hunk.

He was really relaxed. _Too_ relaxed. She hated the guy; she hated mercenaries in general -- real mercenaries, people without morals or brains who sold themselves to the highest bidder like prostitutes at a slave auction. Still, she had some small respect for his abilities. And she couldn't believe Hunk's instincts weren't running as wild as hers.

As if reading her mind, he flashed her a grin. "Buckle up, sweetheart. We're heading in."

Jill fingered the comforting weight of her Glock. She had a _feelin_g she'd need it.

------

Barry strapped his bulk into a seat and maintained a stony silence as the plane descended. He'd seen it too, the squat Umbrella facility hidden in miles of snow and... well, and _nothing_, really. Didn't matter. So it was there. He still didn't trust Hunk further than he could throw him. The idiot was going to get them all killed, and what good would they do Claire then?

He shook his head in annoyance. He barely knew Claire Redfield. Oh, he'd met her once or twice when visiting Chris, and she seemed like a nice enough girl -- albeit a Redfield through and through. Sassy, sharp, intelligent, and talented, that summed up the Redfield siblings. Clearly the girl idolized her big brother, a fact Chris paid far too little attention to. He needed to wake up, pay more attention to her and give her a little more credit. That stunt he'd pulled, taking off without a word of explanation -- no wonder that had backfired. Barry had tried to warn him at the time, but once Chris thought he was protecting his sister there wasn't much you could do to stop him.

Case in point.

The plane lurched unpleasantly as it lowered into the storm. "Hang on tight, kiddies," Hunk sneered from behind him. "Might get a little rocky."

Barry glanced around. Jill gripped the armrests, keeping the palm of her hand on her sidearm, her jaw set and tight. Leon's right eye twitched non-stop. Even Chris was beginning to look worried, although that worry was balanced with relief -- to finally, _finally_, be doing _something_.

And in the midst of it all, Hunk just kept grinning like an idiot.

Oh, this was going to go great.

-----

They'd landed without dying. Chris supposed he ought to be grateful for that.

The second the door swung open the arctic fury caught him full in the face. He actually staggered, very conscious of his friends behind him, their eyes boring holes in his back. He wasn't stupid. He knew what they thought of this plan, of Hunk, of him. Truth be told, Chris was having second thoughts about Hunk too. The guy was just way to cocky in the face of danger. Either he didn't realize what a threat Wesker could be, or he didn't particularly care if they succeeded or failed.

Chris, on the other hand, had already made up his mind. Either he came back with Claire, or he didn't come back at all. Sure, that was giving Wesker what he wanted. Who cared? Chris was tired of running. He was tired of sleepless nights, of imagining what twisted things his former Captain might be doing to his baby sister. _A tower_, he reminded himself firmly. The second he got her back he was building a tall tower and walling her up inside. She could grow her hair really long and he'd send her food and she'd be _safe_.

He was thinking crazy, he knew that. If he let Claire grow her hair that long, she'd find a way to escape with it.

Jill squeezed his hand, and he cast her a grateful smile in the plane's shelter. "Ready?" she asked.

_God, what was he _doing?_ He could be leading his friends, his _family_, into Wesker's mousetrap. _But he didn't have a choice. Not while Wesker held Claire.

Suddenly he grabbed Jill's wrist, imprisoning it in his hand. She let loose a squeak of protest as he tipped her into his chest, his free arm circling her waist and his mouth covering hers in a vicious, desperate kiss. After a second she relaxed into him, wrenching free to cup his face in her hands.

"Aw," Hunk drawled from behind them. "Ain't that cute. Now come on, you two; time for lip rasslin' later."

Jill glared over her shoulder. Her face turned beet-red, and she didn't meet his eyes. "Be careful, Chris."

Later he wouldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth. "I love you, Valentine."

Her gaze snapped to his as though she'd been jerked, her jaw dropping. He could have kicked himself, but he waited with bated breath to see what she would say -- _anything_ she said had to be better than nothing, than standing here in the freezing cold and _waiting_...

"Let's move, kiddies!"

The moment broke and they fell into line, following Hunk and his broad-shouldered cronies toward the bunker.

If Chris hadn't hated the man before, he sure did now.

-----

"I think we can safely assume Wesker's aware of us." Barry cocked his Magnum. "Not much point in subtlety, is there?"

"I'm in charge here, big boy." Hunk kicked the hangar door. "Wet snow, you see that?"

"As opposed to dry snow?" Jill demanded, irritation plain in her voice.

Hunk chuckled. "_Melted_ snow."

"So, water."

Suddenly the big man's humor vanished. His gaze snapped to Chris. "Shut your girlfriend up. This is serious business."

Quickly, Chris and Leon stepped between Jill and Hunk. "Later," Chris hissed out of the corner of his mouth, praying the mission wasn't about to start with friendly fire.

Not that there would be anything too friendly about it, judging by the expression on Jill's face.

"Melted snow," Leon prompted gently, although his right hand kept twitching in a circle. Chris cast him a confused glance. The younger man was acting strangely, even given the situation. "Melted snow, water, wet."

"Means they came through here recently, or one of 'em did. They might not know we're here. If they just got in themselves, they might be kinda busy."

Chris had to admit the mercenary had a point. "We can't assume that, though."

"Course not." Hunk cast him a derogatory sneer. "Just stick with me, Redfield. You'll be all right. You did the right thing calling me -- shows you're the only one here with a brain -- and I've got it all taken care of."

Chris was beginning to understand why Jill and Barry were so damn mad at him.

-----

He was so sick of _deja vu_. If he never saw another Umbrella facility it would be way too soon for his liking.

Besides, he kept expecting things to jump out of shadows. Hunk promised this was a dead facility, but Chris didn't trust Umbrella further than he could track it.

"Hey," he hissed, noticing Leon half-bouncing on his heels. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nervous. Excited." Leon blinked several times. "We're gonna get Claire back, Chris."

"Yeah, I know that. Take it easy." Chris shook his head and tried to catch Jill's eye, telegraphing his concern, but for some reason she seemed to be avoiding him. He shrugged. Time to worry about that later.

They advanced into the loading dock, all Umbrella utilitarianism without so much as a nod to human comfort. Hunk cocked his weapon and gestured his accomplices ahead; they slid silently into the shadows. Chris felt a weight relax on his shoulders. Hunk was an arrogant bastard, but he was a _competent_ arrogant bastard. They could trust him.

Falling into step with Barry and Jill, he automatically took point, trusting them to watch his back. It was good, working with people you knew so well, trusted so completely. They didn't have to discuss their options, they just did things. He'd never felt closer to his friends than he did at this moment. Of course he wouldn't say anything. No one knew that Chris Redfield always got choked up at the beginning of a mission, choked up by the sense of camraderie and belonging. They didn't need to know it now either. He considered it the equivalent of stage fright, and like stage fright, it would be gone by the time the action started.

Which it apparently had. Someone shouted from up ahead and Chris broke into a run, the STARS and Leon on his heels. He cursed himself for letting Hunk get out of sight; what was he _thinking_?

And then he rounded the corner and something collided with his head, and he wasn't thinking at all anymore, just going down, down, down.

The last thing he saw was Wesker standing over him with a satisfied smirk, Hunk grinning behind him in the shadows.


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's note: I felt you deserved one of these, given my horrible and inexcusable delays in updating. I'm very sorry for how long this story has taken, and I want you all to know how VERY MUCH I appreciate that you've kept reading. This year, especially the past six months, has been very difficult for me, and a lot of my time and energy has been directed elsewhere. That said, I am going to do my very best to finish this up before the summer's end. There are only a few chapters left to go, and this is a nice long one. Enjoy!_

Chapter Twenty Nine

Jill closed her eyes in defeat, dropping both Glocks and raising her hands without waiting for an order. What was the point? Wesker had them. He'd won.

_Stupid Chris, stupid Chris and his bloody let's-trust-former-Umbrella-mercenary plan!_ He'd better hope they _had_ lost for good, because if they hadn't, Jill just might kill him!

She opened her eyes, forcing herself to meet Wesker's smug smirk with a defiant stare. "Congratulations," she said dryly. "What next?"

"Next, your companions follow your fine example," he said in that all-too-familiar, grating tone. She glanced over her shoulder to find Barry and Leon reluctantly disarming themselves. Like her, she suspected they hadn't done too thorough a job, but somehow she thought Wesker would anticipate that.

She glanced at Chris, unconscious on the floor (at least she _hoped_ he was only unconscious -- she wanted to claim the task of killing him herself. Maybe Wesker would cut a deal...?)

For all her bravado, her throat had gone very dry, and when she tried to spout a sarcastic comment she found herself unable to speak. Mercifully, Wesker was ignoring her for the time-being, standing over Chris with an air of disappointment. "So this is it?" he murrmured. "I'd credited you with more imagination."

Hunk's gaze followed Wesker's. Seizing the opportunity, Jill slowly lowered her hands. When that didn't provoke a reaction, she worked her left hand toward the concealed pistol in the back of her waistband, keeping her body angled to hide her actions from immediate view. Leon and Barry, of course, had a clear sight, but she hoped they were doing the same thing. If they unleashed enough firepower, maybe they could throw him off-balance, grab Chris, _regroup_.

One second Wesker was frowning down at Chris. The next he had her back against his chest, one arm around her throat, her left wrist twisted painfully behind her. "None of that," he chided sofly. "Really, Jill."

"You wouldn't think much of me if I hadn't tried," she gasped, relieved to find her voice working. His arm tightened around her neck and she choked, wondering if that relief was a bit premature.

"Drop your weapons, gentlemen, if you want her to live."

Leon's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he demanded. "So you can use her in one of your sick experiments?"

"You're complaining, Mr. Kennedy? If not for my sick experiments, you would never have distracted me long enough for clever Valentine here to activate the self-destruct sequence at our last meeting. In fact, you could say I saved your lives."

Jill managed to laugh even through the pain, the tightness in her throat. Barry met her eyes and she nodded, not knowing what else to do. A clatter followed as her men disarmed themselves, and she knew a moment's pride at the arsenal they'd managed to stash on their persons.

Wesker released her throat but not her wrist. "You too, dear heart."

She resisted the impulse to spit in his face and tell him where he could shove his _dear heart_. Instead, she began dropping weapon after weapon onto the ground. By the time she'd finished all four men were regarding her with varying degrees of respect -- Barry's and Leon's proud, Hunk's reluctant, Wesker's almost paternal. She tore her eyes from his face, far too aware of the roll he'd played in her life, in Barry's life -- in Chris's. "You're a sick bastard," she said without any particular heat. She knew a lost cause when she saw one -- or, in this case, walked into it.

"Perhaps," he agreed, equally calm. "Mr. Burton, Mr. Kennedy -- if you'll follow Hunk into the facility?"

Barry's knuckles cracked as his hands clenched. "What about Jill?"

"We'll be right behind you," Wesker assured him with a trace of humor. "Really, anyone would think you didn't trust me."

All three of them bit off a comment at that. What was there to say?

"What about him?" Hunk nodded at Chris's inert form.

Wesker considered for a moment. Then, once again in a blur that defied her vision, he released Jill and delivered a sharp kick to the back of Chris's head. She screamed and lunged involuntarily, only to find herself imprisoned again. "I don't think he's going anywhere," Wesker continued as smoothly as though Hunk had just asked his question. "Proceed."

Jill strained against his grasp, striving to reach Chris -- or her pile of weapons -- striving to esacpe.

Of course, it was hopeless.

She had one last glimpse of Chris Redfield before Wesker wrenched her around a corner, leaving her with nothing but her rage, her revenge.

That, and the two small daggers still concealed against the backs of her thighs.

-----

The searing pain in her fingers and toes receding, Claire forced herself to concentrate. She'd seen the whole thing play out on the video monitors, and she was surprised they hadn't heard her screaming when Chris went down.

She didn't think he was dead, not yet. But she didn't know how long he had. Wesker meant to kill him, that was for sure. God only knew what he planned for the others.

She forced her eyes closed, forced herself to breathe and think instead of wasting her energy in futile struggles. The leather bonds held her to the table, but they didn't feel as tight as they had a few weeks before.

Had she lost weight? She smiled at the thought. Not enough to squirm free.

But maybe...

Rolling her head to the side, she fixed on the table of surgical implements just out of reach, even if she'd had a hand free. One of them was a scalpel. She ground her teeth, feeling like a mouse in a maze -- freedom so close and yet so far...

Well, she had to try, didn't she?

Her ankles were chafed and bleeding. Twisting her right foot against the leather restraint, she wiggled it, ignoring the fierce pain as she gouged her own wounds deeper and deeper. A slow, sticky coating of blood oozed around her skin. She squirmed some more, lubricating the leather as much as possible. Then, with a deep breath, she worked the toes of her left foot against the restraint, holding it still.

And she pulled.

It took all her strength not to scream at the agonizing pain. She pulled until she couldn't bear it a moment longer and collapsed on the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Had she made progress?

The leather looped tightly around her foot, cutting into her flesh -- releasing more blood, making things slippery. She took anothr breath, clenched her teeth, and repeated the entire operation.

It wasn't until the fourth time that the leather bond slid toward her heel. Encouraged, she scraped at it with her bare toes, biting her lip and tasting blood to distract herself from the pain.

And then, all at once, it slipped off.

Claire sagged against the table, panting for air, her triumph overwhelming her pain and her fear. She gave herself a moment to rest but not too long -- God only knew when Wesker would be back. Then, with all the strength she had left, she swung her body to the left and her leg to the right, aiming to catch the tray of surgical tools between her toes.

Instead, she knocked the whole thing to the floor.

It crashed so loudly she cringed, expecting every second for Wesker to come barging in. When no one appeared, she swung her leg over the bed, probing blindly and carefully -- the last thing she needed was to accidentally cut off her own toe -- until she managed to work her foot over what felt like the scalpel handle. Clenching it between her toes, she lifted her leg slowly and gracefully to the bed, executing it like a yoga maneauver -- no collapse, perfect control.

And then she had it.

From there it was the work of moments to get the scalpel into her hand and through her bonds, although she cut herself once or twice in her haste. A heap of bandages and first aid supplies remained on the counter; she quickly set about bandaging her wounds, keeping one eye on the monitors. There was no sign of Wesker, and Chris still remained prone on the floor.

Her jaw clenched. It was her turn to do some rescuing, whether Chris liked it or not.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Claire hugged the wall, creeping through the Umbrella facility. She still clutched the scalpel she'd used to slice her bonds, and she had no intentions of letting it go. Not that it was going to do her much good -- Wesker sidestepped bullets, so this tiny knife wouldn't be much use against him. But this was Umbrella, after all. Who knew what else was lurking around?

_Right kiddo, because a scalpel will be _real_ useful if you come up against a horde of flesh-eating monsters._

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

The problem was, she had no idea where she was going. The monitors had given her an idea of where to look for her brother, but she hadn't been able to find Umbrella's usual facility map slung around. For a company that made their employees mess around with things like jewels and crests to access various rooms, they were usually surprisingly lackluster with schematics. Claire shrugged. She'd long-since given up trying to understand Umbrella.

At any rate, Chris was somewhere in this facility, and she meant to find him before Wesker. It didn't even occur to her that he might be dead, unconscious beyond her ability to revive him. Part of her still had a bit of hero-worship for her big brother, stupid and obnoxious though he might be. She didn't really believe Wesker would kill him anymore than she believed she would kill Wesker.

_To coin a phrase, it ain't gonna happen._

Okay, Claire, calm down and think. Be a good girl and focus on...

On _what_? The nondescript corridor she'd seen Chris lying in? Right, there wouldn't be many of those around.

So it all came down to common sense. They couldn't have gotten far before Wesker stopped them, which meant they were probably near an entrance. The weather being what it was, she doubted they'd had the time or resources to get sneaky; they'd probably come through the main entrance. And that was where she and Wesker had come from, wasn't it?

Great. Now she just had to remember where it was.

They hadn't taken an elevator, she knew that much, so she bypassed the bank of lifts and retreated down the hall. She thought she remembered passing that security camera, but who knew? It wasn't exactly painted neon pink, and as Wesker's room-of-monitors proved, Umbrella wasn't short on security cameras.

Still, she didn't have a better lead. Claire prowled deeper into the facility, her toes aching, her entire body a seething mess of pain and resentment. And always, at the back of her mind, she thought of Wesker, her sole companion for so long now -- her tormentor, her protector; cruel as the devil one moment, gently reassuring the next.

She didn't understand him. She thought back over their acquaintance and realized that _no one_ understood him. She wasn't sure he understood himself.

But two things remained clear to her, two things she'd realized long ago. Wesker was fascinated with fear. He fed off it, thrived on it, used it to fill some psychological deficiency deep within himself.

And he was a profoundly unhappy man because of it.

Do you _need_ fear, she wondered? Could you love without it? Wasn't love by definition a vulnerable emotion? It required risk and sacrifice; Wesker could make neither. What was it like, a life without fear? Without love? Without hope?

As much as she feared him, as much as she hated him, she pitied him too.

Of course, none of that would stop her from driving that scalpel into his throat and twisting with all her might if she had to. She might feel sorry for Wesker -- but Chris came first.

And she would never, _ever_ make such a stupid mistake as she'd made when she saved Wesker's life. Never again.

With that thought firm in her mind, she almost tripped over Chris when she found him.

----------

Wesker pushed Jill harder than was strictly necessary. She tumbled onto the floor, striking her head against the wall. The world swam around her, but she refused to lose consciousness. This was not the time to be out of it. God knew what she'd wake up to.

Barry was at her side in an instant, helping her to her feet and tucking her protectively behind him. She rolled her eyes at his broad back. He couldn't help it, not Barry-the-bear, and it was only worse now that his daughter was in her pre-teens.

Her middle name was _Jill_. Jill was her godmother, Chris her godfather.

Barry seemed to increasingly lump them all into the same category.

Leon hovered nearby, his hands twitching. Wesker and Hunk flanked the door. Casting a dispassionate stare over them all, Wesker announced, "I'll see to the Redfields first, and then we'll deal with this bunch. Watch them."

"What are you going to do?" Jill demanded, ducking under Barry's restraining arm.

His lips twitched. "I haven't decided, Miss Valentine, but it will be slow and painful, I promise you that. If you're so interested, perhaps I'll allow you to watch -- maybe even participate."

"Drop dead, Captain."

He laughed. She winced at the sound. Wesker had never laughed easily, but on the few occasions his team had coaxed him into laughter, he'd managed to erase the cruel mockery that laced his amusement now. "Unlikely, dear heart. Take good care of our guests, Hunk. I'll have plans for them later as well -- particularly that one." His glasses dropped, his red eyes piercing Leon like a set of lasers. "Whatever happens, don't let that one out of your sight. Where are your men?"

"Pee break." Hunk winked. "Don't worry. I gotcha." He leaned against the door, still grinning his idiot smile as Wesker retreated with a frown. Jill suspected he would have lingered if not for Chris, lying unconscious somewhere in this gargantuan facility.

_Oh God _please_ let him be unconscious. Not dead, he can't be dead, not Chris, _not Chris...

She realized Leon had circled halfway around the room. Had Hunk ever seen a demonstration of Leon's new speed, his strength? She didn't think so.

He kept a safe distance from the door, but he caught Jill's eye.

No further communication was necessary. She edged toward the other side of the room, trying to keep her movements casual. Without so much as a glance Barry followed, and she spared a moment to thank God for how attuned he was, how well they functioned as a team.

And when _they_ had expanded to include Leon, she wasn't sure. But just now, he felt like a STAR.

"Hey." As she'd anticipated, Hunk turned to face her and Barry, judging them the greater threats. "You two just stay nice and calm, ya hear me? Sit down with your buddy there and no one has to get hurt."

He barely finished the last word. In a blur too quick to see, Leon crossed the room. Hunk started to spin, almost swung a punch -- a credit to his reflexes -- but Leon dodged and, in a graceful movement Jill hadn't known him capable of, leaped into the air and dealt a spinning back kick to the mercenary's face. Hunk's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped, unconscious, to the floor.

Leon flexed his knuckles. "That was too easy."

Jill ducked beneath him and relieved Hunk of his weapons. "Good job, Kennedy. Now." She straightened up and took a deep breath. "All we have to do is find those other two lunkheads, put them out of comission, find Chris, wake him up, stop Wesker's twisted plan, and save Chris and his sister."

A long silence was broken by Barry's dry chuckle. "Great. Where do we start?"

Jill's heart sank. She'd been hoping someone else would have an idea there.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

Claire's heart hammered in her throat. She'd never been so frightened in her life. Whatever she was experiencing now went way beyond Stockholm Syndrome. She was literally terrified to be out in the open, more or less free, without Wesker at her side.

Well, what did you expect? she demanded of herself. Look what's happened the last few times you've been away from him. Of course you expect something to jump out at you.

Her stomach lurched painfully at a sound somewhere in the facility's bowels. This would never do. She had to get a grip.

She took a few precious seconds to crouch in a corner and focus on her feet, breathing deeply. She was already half-lost and she knew she didn't have much time; _Chris_ didn't have much time. Her only hope was to find him before Wesker did. Once they were together, she didn't think they'd have any trouble escaping. She didn't know _why_ she thought that, precisely, unless it was that Chris always came through for her. Just this once, she had to come through for him.

Drawing herself to a standing position, relieved to find herself steady on her feet, she resumed her trek through identical sterile hallways. Somewhere Chris lay in their depths, and she was going to find him.

She backtracked the way Wesker had brought her, hoping against hope she hadn't taken a wrong turn somewhere -- a hope that seemed increasingly futile as more and more doors loomed in front of her. "God," she whispered. "I could really use a hand here."

No miraculous power intervened. With a sigh, she headed for a random door -- and almost missed the paper on the floor. It had been attached to the wall once, but at some point the bolts on its plastic shield had worked loose, dropping it to the ground. Hardly daring to breathe, she snatched it up to find...

"Yes," she hissed. A facility map. And she wasn't nearly as off-course as she'd feared. In fact, she could reach the entranceway in minutes.

She just hoped that wouldn't be too late.

---

"Can we stop to think of a plan, please?" Barry demanded.

Leon didn't slow. Jill did, but after a second's indecision she hurried back to his side. "God knows what that maniac is doing to Claire," Leon snarled.

"And Chris," Jill pointed out.

Barry lumbered after them, making no effort to hide his irritation. "This has all the earmarks of a bad plan. It's on a par with contacting Hunk."

"That was Chris' idea," Leon shot back. He did feel a bit guilty -- after all, he'd backed Chris' decision -- but he couldn't afford to focus on that now. All that mattered was Claire. Whatever Wesker had done to her, however he'd manipulated and controlled her -- it didn't matter. Leon would find her and hold her until she knew for certain she'd never have to face that psycho again. After that, he had no doubt, Wesker's control would crumble, and they could begin the painstaking job of rebuilding her psyche.

It was a good thing she was so damn strong. He wasn't the least bit surprised that Wesker had manipulated her; he was only surprised it had taken so long. Leon didn't have an ounce of blame for Claire. All of his hatred focused on the freaking mutant who'd put them in this situation to start with.

His enhanced hearing picked up a sound in the shadows. Leon skidded to a halt, stopping Jill with an outstretched arm. He cocked his head, listening. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"Probably the last person you want to see."

Oh, God. He knew that voice. He shoved Jill back and took a step forward, gesturing for Barry and Jill to remain where they were. "Ada?"

The lower half of her body emerged from a corner, but she kept her face in shadows. "Leon," she said in the perfect sultry tones he remembered so well.

He almost bit through his lip with the effort of controlling himself. "You have thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn't kill you. Starting now."

She didn't waste time. "Because I'm going to help you rescue Chris and get out of here."

An alien laugh escaped him, a short, bitter bark. "And you expect me to trust you? That went really well for me last time."

"Last time wasn't my fault, Leon. I never meant to betray you." She sighed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Leon found Barry frozen in place. Jill, on the other hand, made a rapid slashing gesture across her throat. He shook his head and returned his attention to Ada. "For someone who didn't mean to betray me you did a pretty neat job of it. You gave me the directions, led me to the place, even attacked me for your sociopathic boss. All that was missing was the kiss."

"Well, we could rectify that," she murmured, but held up his hands when he started toward her. "Leon, please. Believe me when I tell you that this is the only way you'll escape with your friends and your lives."

"No, thank you," he replied cooly, turning his back and walking away. "Now run and tell Wesker about us like the good little pet you are."

"Leon!"

He heard Jill's gasp and spun in place, taking in her scars. They weren't bad, actually, but Jill hadn't seen Ada's face since the explosion. "You've healed up nicely."

She flushed, looking discomposed for the first time since he'd met her. She actually raised her hands as though she wanted to hide her face, and that more than anything made him take a step toward her. "Wesker," she explained flatly. "He came for me after the explosion."

"Yes, that would be when you disappeared without a trace."

"Yes," she replied flatly. "Leon, listen to me. I didn't want to betray you. Wesker made me. He knew you'd come to me, and he knew what I told you. He said that if I didn't lead you into his trap, he'd kill me -- slowly and painfully. You don't realize what _slowly and painfully_ means where Wesker's concerned." A tear traced a path down her cheek. "I was frightened. I didn't know what to do. I made a wrong choice, Leon. Give me the chance to make up for it now."

Damn her tears. His heart lurched painfully, and he had to bite his lip to keep from taking her in his arms. "What if he finds out?"

"He won't. I have a plan." A glimmer of the old Ada flashed through her eyes, cool and calculating. "Have you considered that even if you find your friends, Wesker will probably find them first? What do you think you can do against him?" Leon didn't answer. They'd had what felt like a long argument but was actually a hurried shouting match on that very subject just moments before. "Miss Valentine had the right idea," Ada continued, nodding at Jill. "You'll have to set off the self-destruct sequence again."

Jill snorted. "We can't do that until we find Chris."

"Once you find him, you'll have to distract Wesker. That takes some doing when it comes to revenge on Chris."

"Revenge for _what_?" Jill demanded. "What did Chris ever do to make Wesker hate him so much?"

Ada shrugged. "I don't have time to psychoanalyze my boss."

"You call him your boss and you expect us to trust you?"

"All right!" Leon broke in. He had a pulsing headache. "Ada, you're saying we should activate the self-destruct when we find Chris. And we need you because..."

"Because after last time, Wesker changed all the access codes. You won't be able to just slip in this time -- not without a world-class hacker and about three hours of free time." She took a few steps forward, ignoring Barry's growl, and laid an 81/2 by 11 manilla envelope on the floor. "This will take care of everything. I have to go now -- if Wesker doesn't realize I've arrived he will soon, and neither of us can afford for him to start wondering where I've been."

"Ada!" Leon took a couple steps toward her, bringing himself almost into arm's reach. "Why are you doing this?"

A smile glimmered on her lips. "I have my reasons. Be careful, Leon. You too," she added to Jill and Barry, almost as an afterthought. Then she was gone.

After a moment Leon stepped forward and tore the envelope open. It contained a single sheet of paper and a short message:

To activate the self-destruct sequence, select "custodial duties" from

the menu of any computer. Activate the "full cleanse" option.

Username: Yuki Hirakoshi

Password: a4x22197bltto

"Great," Leon muttered, passing the paper along to Jill. "So what the hell do we do now?"


	32. Chapter 32

_This is the second last chapter, finally!!! It's nice and long, too! I apologize yet again for the delay -- I've been working on a variety of creative endeavors lately that have consumed my time, including an online graphic novel and a weekly comic strip. Check my site if you want to see them (in my profile). Enjoy!_

Chapter Thirty Two

_She was too late_.

"Chris," Claire gasped, dropping the facility map along with the knife she'd found in a disused mess hall. It clattered to the ground as she threw herself over him, fingers groping for a heartbeat. She found one and her own heart leaped in response. It was weak, yes, and erratic, but it was _there_. "Chris!" she repeated as loudly as she dared. Half of her expected Wesker to appear out of nowhere. Wherever he'd gone, he'd be back soon, she had no doubt about that, and she wouldn't put it past him to be tailing her even now, watching her hunt for her brother with grim amusement, only to pop into the open the second she found him. Her fists tightened in Chris' sleeve. "Come on, big brother, open those baby blues."

He moaned softly when she shook him. Encouraged, she shook harder. "Chris!"

"For the love of God," he complained in a bitter, raspy voice.

Claire laughed out loud. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. "Time to wake up!"

"Claire?" He sat up, touching his head and wincing. "My God, is it really you?"

She started to laugh again but found herself crying. Chris' arms snaked around her and she clutched at his coat, struggling to bring herself under control. She didn't have time to cry right now; touching though the scenario might be, Wesker's arrival would put an abrupt end to the proceedings. "Chris," she choked. "We have to get out of here."

"I know." He gave her another squeeze and set her back. "Do you know where he took the others?"

"What others?"

"Jill, Leon, Barry."

Her heart leaped. "Leon's here?"

"Somewhere."

She half-helped, half-dragged him to his feet. "My God, Chris, we have to help him. All of them. Wesker's crazy; he'll..."

"You're telling me?" He moaned and dabbed at the wound on his forehead. "Come on, sis, think. Where would he have taken them?"

"How am I supposed to know?" She released him so suddenly he nearly fell and raced across the hall, snatching up the map. "I have this."

"Oh, great. That narrows it down to about fifty empty rooms."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" She stomped her foot, irritated. "I ran all the way out here to rescue you, Chris."

"Hey, I know." He squeezed her arm, intent on the map. "I'm sorry. I have a killer headache."

She laughed in spite of herself. "God, I missed you. I missed you so much, Chris."

"Ditto, baby sister." He kissed her forehead and tucked the map into his back pocket. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Beats me." He flashed her a Chris-Redfield patented grin, the kind that made her think everything might be okay after all. "But don't worry. We'll find 'em."

And God help her, she believed it.

---

Leon stared at the piece of paper. "What do you think?"

"What do we have to lose?" Barry countered. "Wesker's a sick puppy, I'll give you that -- but he's not about to send Ada to let us loose and give us a false code just for the pleasure of watching us run around like rats in a maze."

"You sure about that?" Leon asked dryly.

Jill shook her head. "No, he's right. Wesker's off his rocker, but everything he does has a purpose. This, it's too random, too... flawed. Wesker didn't come up with it."

"Then I guess our best bet is to find a computer and try it."

"What about Chris?" Jill demanded sharply.

"Our best chance of helping him is still the computer -- we can probably try to patch into the security monitors through there." Leon shrugged. "You got a better idea?"

Jill scowled and refused to voice the obvious.

Leon nodded. "Then let's go."

They moved as quickly and silently as they dared, completely unarmed unless you counted Leon's strength. Jill felt naked without a couple Glocks somewhere on her person. Honestly, she would have traded a few articles of clothing for a pen knife.

Barry and Leon took opposite ends of the corridor, forcing doors and checking for an active workstation while Jill kept watch around the corner. Unfortunately none of them had a great deal of computer training, and she sensed that would come back to bite them. THey'd have to find a work station that was already active, because none of them were capable to hacking the password, not unless some friendly technician had left a page full of hints lying around (not out of the question, given Umbrella's competent staffing strategies). But after five corridors of nothing, they'd begun to give up hope. Leon even made some half-hearted attempts at figuring out the pass code on a semi-active work station until Jill pointed out that a, they were wasting time, and b, enough failures might trigger some sort of alarm.

The thing was, they weren't likely to find an unlocked station unless Wesker had been using it. Jill hated that thought -- she didn't want to get anywhere near where Wesker was. But she voiced it to the others and obtained their reluctant agreement. If they wanted to get into the computer system, they'd have to look for Wesker first.

Great, she thought, yet again grabbing at the place her gun should have been. This plan has all the makings of a spectacular failure.

Problem was, they didn't have anything else.

------------

"Don't look so glum, chum." Chris ruffled his sister's hair, ignoring the dirty look she shot him. "We've gone through about half the rooms."

"Yeah -- without meeting Wesker. Which means he's in one of the ones we haven't searched. What are you going to do if you open a door and find him standing there?"

"Let me worry about that." She glared at him again, because his bravado didn't impress her -- never had. Chris only shrugged. He felt almost giddy with the relief of finding Claire alive, in her right mind, and relatively safe. What he didn't say was that, given the chance, he'd bargain himself for her release. He thought Wesker would probably take it -- he had nothing against Claire specifically -- but he didn't want things to come to that unless they absolutely had to. For one thing, he wasn't quite sure Wesker wouldn't kill Claire on the spot, just to be rid of her. For another, he had no real desire to die at his former commander's hands.

Claire snatched the map from his hands and examined it carefully. "We've been all through Level A. It's a small facility; level C looks like storage -- low security. I think we'd better concentrate our efforts on level B."

"Really." They stopped short. Wesker leaned against a doorway in front of them, casual and collected, a slight smile on his lips. "And what, Miss Redfield, are you hoping to find?"

A surge of tears assaulted her before she could stop them. To be so close, to come so far... "Chris," she choked, trying to pull him back.

Wesker smiled at her. "No need for tears, dear heart. You knew this moment was coming."

"Wesker." Chris stepped forward, his face knotted in anger. "Let her go."

"And why would I do such a thing?"

"It's me you want; you know that. You have no use for her."

"Mmm. On the other hand, I find I've become accustomed to her company." He flashed his teeth, very white and straight under the flourescent lights. "I may decide to keep her with me for a very long time once you're gone, Chris."

Claire released a strangled sob. "I'll die first," she spat.

"Perhaps."

"All right, that's enough." Chris shoved her gently back. "Go. Now."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I'll catch up with you when I'm done here." He kept his gaze fixed on Wesker's, silently willing Claire to run before Wesker changed his mind and struck her down. "That's a promise. You know I always keep 'em, right?"

"Damn it, Chris..."

He pulled her close and whispered, "Find the others. It'll be okay." He released her with a shove, and after a second's hesitation she took off running.

Chris tensed in case Wesker pursued her, but he only grinned. "I must say, you're a noble brother. You were always... noble."

Somehow he made the word sound like a supreme insult. "Enough talk," Chris managed through gritted teeth. He staggered slightly under the pain of his head wound and knew he wouldn't be walking out of here alive. _Sorry, Claire... this is one promise I won't be able to keep. _"Let's do this thing."

Wesker grinned and strode toward him.

-----

Claire heard them before she saw them. She herself made no effort to be quiet; instead, she tore through the halls shouting Leon's name at the top of her lungs, oblivious to the potential danger. Before she knew it she'd rounded a corner and heard his response, and the next thing she knew his strength surrounded her. She collapsed on his chest, sobbing and shouting all at once. "He's got Chris! We have to save him, help him, now!"

"Claire!" Leon tightened his grip and cast a helpless glance at the others. "We need a computer, one that's unlocked..."

"Medilab," she replied promptly, recovering as quickly as she'd collapsed. She stepped out of his embrace and they exchanged quick, embarrassed glances, but it wasn't the time and they were both professional enough to know it. "That's where he was working on me before you showed up; the computers were all functioning. I used them to find Chris..."

"Can you find your way back?"

She closed her eyes, picturing the map, and nodded. "I think so."

"Then let's move."

-----

Chris let loose a strangled cry as he slammed into the wall. The world swam in front of him and he struggled to maintain consciousness. "That all you got?" he croaked as he staggered to his feet.

Wesker laughed casually, approaching at a leisurely pace. "I always knew you'd joke to the death, Chris. It'll be interesting to see how long you manage to keep it up."

Chris dove at his assailant, but Wesker neatly sidestepped him and smashed his fist into the back of Chris' head. He dropped to the ground, seeing stars. "You bastard," he choked. With a supreme effort he managed to swing his leg around, knocking Wesker's feet out from beneath him -- or that was the plan. By the time he'd finished the movement, Wesker was already across the room.

"This is pathetic," Wesker remarked. He folded his arms and watched Chris struggle to rise. "I'd hoped for _something _of a challenge -- an amusement, at least."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have conked me over the head, then." Chris managed to write himself and draw his hands into fists. "Still, I'd hate to disappoint you."

"I bet you would." Wesker grinned, and the two men faced off, the outcome a foregone conclusion.

----------

"Oh, God!" Claire cried when she found them on the security monitor. Behind her, Jill drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"There's no time," Barry announced calmly. He snatched the paper from Leon's hands and started punching numbers.

"Barry!" Claire shrieked. "What are you doing?"

"Blowing this place to bits."

"But Chris..."

"He's still standing, isn't he? He'll make it out. Unfortunately, Wesker probably will too. At least we should take Hunk down in the blaze." He grinned slightly.

Leon, Claire, and Jill watched as helplessly as if they'd been frozen in place, wanting to stop him, wanting to help, not knowing how to do either.

--------

Chris' world turned red as he smashed face-first into the wall. He tried to rise and found he couldn't, and realized this was the end.

It wasn't so bad, he supposed. Better than being eaten by zombies, or turned into one himself. He rolled onto his back and made the figure swimming before him resolve into Wesker. "Well?" he choked. "You win. Go ahead and do it. Or did you want me to suffer a bit more?"

Wesker frowned as though considering. "I really do hate you, Chris. I wanted you to know before you died."

"I know." Chris closed his eyes wearily. "And believe me, the feeling is mutual. But what I've always wanted to know is: _why_? Before the mansion incident I gave you nothing but respect and loyalty. Why hate me the way you do?"

"Oh, I don't know." Wesker leaned against the wall and seemed to truly consider the question. "Your sister would have it that you represent what I could have been, but I don't think so. You see, _I_ could have been what I could have been. I chose not to become you, Chris. Circumstance and psychology had little to do with it."

"Then why?"

"You ruined my career, of course. The mansion... things were going so well before you stuck your interfering mitts into the mix."

"So did Jill and Barry," he pointed out. All of a sudden, the issue seemed extremely important. He didn't want to die until he knew. "What is it, Wesker? What is it you hate about me so much?"

Wesker considered him for a moment and opened his mouth to speak.

At that moment, the familiar alarm shrilled throughout the building. "Self-destruct sequence has been activated. Five minutes to detonation."

For the first time... well, ever, Chris saw Wesker's jaw drop. "You've got to be kidding."

Chris chuckled wearily. "Claire."

"It's impossible. How could...?" Wesker's eyes narrowed. "You're in luck yet again, Chris. There's something I must see to before this facility destroys itself. Enjoy the reprieve."

And just like that, he was gone.

Chris lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Wesker had... let him go? Why? It would have been the work of seconds to snap Chris' neck, and Chris was certainly in no condition to stop him. What had Wesker been about to say? _What was going on?_

"Self destruct sequence has been activated. Four minutes to detonation."

He shook his head and staggered to his feet. If he hoped to escape with his life, he had to think about moving now and Wesker later.


	33. Epilogue

Epilogue

Claire Redfield titled her head and enjoyed the sensation of the hot morning sun. A nagging voice at the back of her head muttered about sunscreen and melanoma, but she told it to shut up. She'd been locked away from the light for too long; she took any chance of getting outside.

She wiggled her toes in her shoes. They'd finally begun to heal after six weeks away from the Antarctic -- away from Wesker. So far she'd heard nothing about or from him, and hoped things would stay that way.

Idly, she rubbed a few lines onto her sketchpad. The charcoal made a satisfying scratch against the rough paper, and she jotted a rough outline of the gothic facade in front of her, ignoring the students shouting as they threw a frisbee back and forth. It felt good to be on the university campus again, even if she wasn't a student. She'd spent some of her best hours and done some of her best work here, and it felt like an escape from everything... from everything.

Leon had been remarkably good about the whole thing. She'd thought she'd never hear the end of that videotape, but he didn't even mention it until she brought it up, and then he dismissed the incident with cheerful good humor -- maybe _too_ cheerful. Things were strained between her and Leon. She wasn't sure where they were going. She loved him, or thought she did, but months with no human contact -- unless you counted Wesker, which Chris said she shouldn't -- had taken a toll on her, and she wasn't sure she was ready for _any_ relationship right now. Besides, there was Ada... Leon never talked about her, but Jill had told Claire what happened in the facility. _Ada_ had provided the self-destruct sequence that saved them all.

Why?

She shook her head and sketched a few details before realizing she hated the way the building crouched on the horizon. Disgusted, she tore the piece out of her sketchbook, wadded it up, and stuffed it into her bag. She flipped through the pictures underneath, things she'd done long ago, since the sketchbooks Wesker had given her had been destroyed along with the facility. She was sorry about that -- some of her best work had been done in those months of isolation, and now that she was free, she couldn't seem to find that artistic spark. She'd hoped that revisiting the university would inspire her, but instead she just felt... empty.

Her fingers slowed as she came across the sketch of Wesker she'd done so long ago. Some kind of emotion rolled in her chest -- fear or anger or pity, she didn't know what -- and she snapped the book closed, shutting her eyes against his hard, cold stare.

When she opened them again, a shadow had fallen over her. "You're in my light," she barked without looking up. The last thing she needed right now was to fend off some frat boy's clumsy passes.

"My apologies." The answering drawl hadn't lost one bit of sarcasm. She jerked around, almost giving herself whiplash, but by then he'd sunk silently to the ground beside her. She fumbled and pinched herself, refusing to believe that Albert Wesker was sitting beside her on the grass.

But it was him, right down to the stupid glasses. He wasn't looking at her, either, just staring ahead at the frisbee game, arms draped over his bent knees. From this angle, she could just see the gleam of red beneath his eyes.

Terror overwhelmed her, sudden and unwelcome. She moved to sprint, but his gloved hand clamped over her arm. "Please, Miss Redfield. If I'd wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it by now."

"You're not taking me again," she hissed, struggling against his grip. She wondered what she could do -- scream? Call for help? Please. Wesker would tear her saviors to pieces.

"No," he agreed, startling her. She stopped fighting and he released her at once, still not looking at her.

Rubbing her wrist, she eyed him hesitantly. "Then what are you doing here?"

His thin lips twisted in a smile. "Did you think me dead?"

"I hoped," she replied.

Finally he turned his head to glance at her, not needing to voice the word _liar_. "You'll be pleased to know that I salvaged my research from the facility. I even managed to save the computer hard drive -- and learn who'd given your friends the security access code."

"Who was it?" Claire whispered, knowing the answer full well, scarcely daring to breathe.

But he surprised her. "Yuki Hirakoshi is, I fear, no longer among us."

_Who?_ "So you're back," she said to cover her bewilderment. "Why?"

"To declare a truce." He leaned back on his hands and smiled slightly at her confusion. "Why did you come back for me in the first base, Claire?"

She flushed. "I don't know. Stupidity, I suppose."

"Is that so? You don't strike me as a stupid woman."

"I let you manipulate me," she said slowly, hating herself even as she spoke the words. "That probably has something to do with it."

"I don't think so, dear heart." He shook his head and now he fixed her with the full force of his stare. She could feel it even through the glasses, and shifted uncomfortably. "We spent a long time together. I must confess, I've become rather fond of you. And I think you're not entirely without feelings toward me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Dear heart, there's no need for this nonsense. I'm not proposing we run away together, just stating a fact."

"So what are you saying?" she demanded, flustered and hating that he could discompose her so, hating the fact that he may be right. "Why did you come here, Wesker?"

"I told you. I want to declare a truce. You stay out of my life, and I'll stay out of yours." He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Without meaning to, she tipped her head toward his hand, and his palm briefly cupped her cheek. "In other words, dear heart, you don't have to keep looking over your shoulder. I won't come for you again."

"And my brother?"

"Will die," he said slowly. "Nothing has changed, not really. I don't want to hurt you, but if you cross me..."

He left the threat unspoken, and she shrugged, accepting it. "You know I'll stand behind Chris."

"Yes, always behind him. He never does let you take center stage. Now if you'd stayed with me..." He shook his head. "Regardless. I came, Claire, to say goodbye. If I see you again, I'll kill you. Don't make me. Live your life. Draw pictures. Be happy." He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, very softly, so softly she thought at first she'd imagined it. Her eyes drifted closed.

When she opened them, he was gone.

Raising her hand to her lips, Claire wondered what had just happened, if _anything _had just happened. Had Wesker really been there, or had she dreamed the whole thing? He'd threatened her -- that sounded like him -- and then he'd kissed her -- sort of. She stared at the spot where he'd been sitting, his words still echoing in her mind: _if I see you again, I'll kill you. Live your life. Draw pictures. Be happy._

_Be happy._

Slowly, she opened her sketchpad and began to draw.

END


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